


| Not Enough |_il risveglio

by Leszre



Series: The World of A/B/O through the Looking Glass [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: A slightly in the future-setting, Alpha!_Oliver, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, CPTSD, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Beta Read, Omega!_Elio, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, different first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 111,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: COMPLETED.[ OUTLINE ]Two people who seemingly have everything, for everyone else’s eyes, meet in Paris, of all places. This is Alpha!_Oliver(26) and Omega!_Elio(19)’s story.
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: The World of A/B/O through the Looking Glass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975822
Comments: 87
Kudos: 71





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> risveglio  
>  _ITALIAN_. n. (figurative) revival; (azione) awakening  
> .  
> As with my other fic, this might not be your thing as I tend to spew out unusual interpretations. Even if you don’t like mine, please keep being a valuable fanfam member of CMBYN in AO3. Each and every one of you are important in this fanfamdom world and its continued existence. Grazie!  
> 

_It feels like a summer's day._

_You are sitting under the sun;_

_–your eyes closed softly, your head tilted up just so,_

_soaking up the beautiful rays of sun_

_–in a place I've only seen pictures of._

_I must have stepped on a twig._

_You open your eyes and turn your face towards me._

_I know you… but we never met._

_You extend your hand to me_

_–a stunning smile blooming on your face._

_And I see my hand reaching out to hold yours._

_I'm with you…but I don't know your name._

_I know I'm dreaming_

_But it feels more like a memory._

_...how can that be?_

A typical busy street in the city of London, at a corner of usual just-another-street no one can ever mistake it as someplace else, a man in a dark heather grey tailored suit with a matching fedora hat looks intensely at the open notebook in his hand. And he mutters, 'no, no, no, no, no,' under his breath with such urgency. His head snaps up and looks around the street and he pushes his torso forward. At the far end of the corner, Elio is half jogging and half running, checking his wrist watch. A typical scene of a person who is late for meeting someone that no other people on the pavement pays attention to. And the scene snaps to what appears to be the inside of a famous local pastry shop on the same street where Oliver is about to walk out with a small brown bag in his hand. Three doors down, Diego is impatiently tapping the tips of both thumbs on his smart phone, muttering his usual colorful Spanish words under his breath.

“No, no, no, this _cannot_ be happening,” the fedora hat murmurs urgently, getting onto his feet hurriedly.

.

[ To Be Continued ]


	2. Black and Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter begins, about a couple of hour or so before the prologue. Elio is in London, UK sitting in front of a piano. He is late for meeting his college friend and rushes to the location.Out of nowhere Elio sees someone he didn't expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **M**  
>  [Trigger Warning] Descriptive Violence (physical, sexual) Though it’s not as graphic, Please, please, scroll to find ‘ **#** ,’ skip ‘ **+**.’

**Chapter One. Black and Purple**

**Present Day | A couple of hours before the beginning of Prologue | Practice Room | The Royal Academy of Music | London, UK**

Elio is sitting in front of an upright piano with a small rectangular silver plaque on its side, showing that this instrument has been donated by one of the alumni and how long ago. There is a tablet and old fashioned sheet music on the music rack. It’s as if Elio is from a previous generation; an unusual piece is found on the music shelf. A vintage fountain pen. An its weight is holding down an old kraft paper note pad.

His hair is a little longer than his 19 year-old-self. His wayward curls still wild yet luscious. His upper back hunched over a little as he practices the own piece he wrote. It has been more than two years. That blissful four weeks that followed their fateful mid-night.

Images of them laughing, cuddling, goofing around flash inside Elio’s head in quick progression. His left hand presses four notes in quick succession. The hazel eyes screws his eyes shut.

Outside the practice room, the interior of Royal Academy of Music is captured with its hustle and bustle of weekday, in a usual school year. A tall military buzz cut Asian guy walks with his hands on his phone. He doesn’t even look up while walking through the corridor, passing others by. He definitely knows where he is heading. He finishes thumbing on his smart device as he arrives, pockets his phone in his jeans, and reaches out his hand. His wrists has many strings and beads: some leather, some cotton, along with a thin silver chain with a small medallion of saint. His mouth parts as he recognizes the tune and he tempers a sigh. He straightens his back up a little and breathes out through his nose. Then, he takes off his backpack before he sits down on the floor, his back against the wall right next to closed door. He swiftly flips his wrist to check the time. Hm.

.

The muffled melody of piano notes play on, carrying a similar texture comparable to one of Debussy’s. Mild, breezy, light-hearted, and melodic. There is no trills or complicated techniques. Z scoffs quietly each time he hears this part. A playful tug and pull of lover’s. Like a dance between two humming birds in Summer's cool early dawn. The way Elio wrote is as if it was something he had to keep it to himself. Playing it cool. And unless you are right next to him, just like the fast wing-fluttering of hummingbirds, you wouldn't know what is going on inside Elio's head. And here, riight here, he smiles to himself. With the flustered-flittering heart beats, Elio is waiting for him. Like a little gosling. Then, something like a soft chirp plays. Not birds. Maybe somthing like crickets. As the left hand slows telling him, it's way after night fall. A nervous excitement. Like a stroke of midnight, it inches close to him. Then, it fades; it feels like a vast universe. Pitch dark night, as if everything is being sucked into a void like a black hole. The only thing your sense can tell is by touch. Smooth, soft. The anticipation and nervousness. Two beings merging into one; creating such a beautiful harmony as if two separate progressions are meant to be one. But it’s short lived.

“Oh, I hate this part,” he mutters tartly under his breath, clicking his tongue.

The way Elio plays is like it was something he knew. An ending. He doesn’t want it. They don’t want it. But it’s inevitable. Is it hopping over the rocks in the lake? Or is it a train? Then, all the minor codes jumble in.

The guy leans his head back against the wall behind him and sighs out with his parted mouth as if it’s his story. Everything hurts. Nothing makes sense. You are everywhere and you are nowhere. Each breath you take, it burns like ice-cold air. Or scorching fire that sears and singes everything in its path. For some reason, it's fire and ice at the same time. But it doesn’t numb you enough. At the same time, you are glad that you had that with the one who left. It’s precious. I’m not letting go. But I know I have to.

He fills his lungs in increments, hesitating to hear the unfinished parts. Your voice gets sucked out of you as if you are screaming in the deep fathomless water. A slow gloop, gloop, gloop of large air rises to the surface where your body sinks. You can hide your tears but nothing else. And your body trembles. You want to stay here but your body has mind of its own; flailing your arms, kick your legs hard. Tip of your finger is barely about to break the surface, you wish your body to stop. I wanna stay here.

Then, he muses about how Elio resolves those minor codes into harmonic phrases. You feel hope though there is not knowing. Not not-knowing. No guarantee of seeing the one who left you. You still love them: so much.

Dearly and wholeheartedly.

.

**Nine or so minutes later**

“Awwrr–, MATE!!!”

Elio jolts back to reality at the voice. The door to his practice room swings open. A guy comes barging in, with a distinct look on his face. It’s the same guy who was sitting by the door outside the practice room. Soon, his face expression changes into a disbelief.

“Did your parents say anything about ‘all work and no play?’ My old man will have a field day with you. And he’s first generation immigrant Asian!”

“Hey, Z, you are worse than Marzia,” Elio huffs out a laugh.

“There you go, again. Marzia this, Marzia that. When did she say she’s going to visit you again?” retorts Z, short for Zengguang, one of his class cohorts Elio became good friends with.

“urgghhh––, this piece again?” gripes Z, pulling in all of his face muscle towards his nose. Because the stupid mouth of his just blurted out something he told himself he wouldn’t mention, less than a minute ago. He knows what this song means to Elio.

“What’s up?”

“And now you are an American,” Z rolls his eyes, “your mobile is off again, mate.”

Elio mouths, ‘sorry,’ and fishes out his smart phone and quickly boots it up.

There are 10 unread messages.

And instantly, Elio’s phone tings in his grip.

“That’s probably Diego,” remarks Z, chewing at his hangnail on his left thumb. The one that he has been picking at, while waiting for Elio to finish the round, right outside.

The hazel eyes chuckles nervously as the newly arrive message reads: ‘WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?’

Z mimics how Diego talks whenever he gets upset. Very Spanish.

“uft, merda, is it today?”

“Duh~,” Z just tosses a syllable with a look.

“What time is…, shit!” Elio gets up gathering his things into his backpack.

“You’re welcome.”

“I owe you, Z,” the hazel eyes says those words to Z on his way out.

“Hook me up when Marzia is in town!!”

.

Elio had promised Diego that he’d be his wingman for the seminar Diego has to attend. As Diego’s parents do not believe in the chance of Diego successfully becoming a musician, he had made a deal with his stern mother that he’d do a dual study.

When Elio is about half way to the location, all of a sudden Hugh Grant of moisture–the usual & typical London rain–becomes thicker.

“Christ!” the dark curls curses under his breath.

/ '11:30 on the dot at the corner Starbucks,' / Diego’s words echo.

I’m nearly there. Elio thinks as he speeds up.

Diego knows Elio has a strong opinion about Starbucks coffee. Although Diego insisted that the location is easy to find, Elio knows Diego is one of those guys who prefers what Elio could best describe as sugary coffee flavored sweet milkshake. The ugly green short awning is within sight. Elio’s slack is soaked up to his calves. Right at the moment he is about to break into a sprint, Elio comes to an abrupt halt. With a gasp.

In grey wool long coat, a familiar face Elio can never miss is coming out of the pastry shop next door. Squinting a little, looking up at the sky.

Oliver–

*

**Two Years or so Ago**

+

Fragmented and strobe like images of Elio being pushed to the wall by a group of people.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / /

Elio putting up his arms in defense, yelling something in French.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / /

Three men getting closer to him, one grabbing Elio by the neck. Another hand appearing to take hold of Elio by his hair. With a deep frown, Elio thwacking the intrusive hand with his own, trying to avoid his hair being caught.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / /

The guy holding Elio’s neck presses his body against Elio and Elio grimaces hard, yelling, “No!”

A firm slap lands on across Elio’s face by the back of an alpha’s hand, and is immediately followed by a left hook punch, deep on Elio’d left rib. Elio’s body bows sideways and inward as two other guys join in. In a split second, Elio is turned around against his will, his face is smashed against the wall of the back alley building, his two arms stretched to the either side. Elio screaming in pain, resisting.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / / x 2

Elio tries to call-out for help and the guy on the left shoves his forearm harshly across Elio’s head and shoulder. The alpha standing right behind Elio pulls out a pocket knife from his pants' back pocket. A muffled click rings distinctly as the hilt of the knife reveals the folded blade. Elio hears an alpha from his right, taunting him with a deep throaty threat, telling him to shut his feeble mouth and be a good little one. Elio bucks his body in defiance, still trying to resist and be freed from these undesired hands and stinking bodies. The long edge of knife quickly is pressed against Elio’s left cheek. With a sharp breath, Elio freezes.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / / x 2

Except for one, four other guys run their palms on their own bulging humps, in front of their trousers. The one with the knife licks his lips, almost slobbering. In a split second, the sharp instrument goes through the length of the thin fabric on the back of Elio’s T-shirt with a loud distinct rip; exposing Elio’s porcelain skin. Elio feels as if his soul is being ripped apart. Suddenly, multiple hands appear, greedily land on against Elio's trembling skin. Goose bumps spread like a severe allergic reaction. Elio grimaces hard. The touches are nothing but harsh and grimy. They are just possessive, beyond intrusive, and only by desire for power and conquest. Elio shuts his eyes close with deep repulsion, his nose cringing, making firm furrowing lines on his nose and between his eyebrows, still tries to fight off the disgusting smells of five alphas, standing and surrounding him.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / / x 2

The edge of the sharp weapon now makes contact with the back of Elio’s jean. Elio thrashes his shoulders in stubborn resistance and shouts out for help. But it’s no use. The offender on Elio’s left pushes Elio’s already squashed face against the wall, harder and further, with more force. "Do you have anything to shove in his mouth?", Elio hears one of the alphas asking the other. Elio bites down the fleshy part of the alpha’s palm covering his mouth. "Ow! You bitch!!", and too quickly, another hard slap lands on Elio's face. Elio tastes blood this time. He, then, leans into Elio’s ear and warns, “try that again and you are dead, you filthy little whore,” in a sinister yet highly aroused voice. Then, he cackles before licking Elio’s face; slowly with saliva-laden dirty tongue. His smell is beyond revolting.

Elio screams on top of his lungs as his jean being ripped apart. One of the alphas from the far left grabs Elio's ripped shirt and goes, 'here.' The one on Elio's right quickly goes, 'right,' and shove the fabric into Elio's mouth. Elio resists it. And there is another hard slap and a punch. And he hears, “shut your fucking mouth!” as Elio's jaw is held by a vice grip like hand and Elio whimpers, terrified, as the fabric stuffs his mouth. Three alphas cackles out loud satisfied with Elio's muffled scream. Then, his body quickly stutters as the rest of his clothes are forcible removed from him.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / / x 3

Elio stands helplessly, his face in pain, his lips tinting in red pigments with his own blood, tears running down on his cheeks. Three offenders howl together and two others cackle, as the one with the knife is having his way with Elio.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / / x 3

Elio body waves and moves. He doesn’t want this. Elio’s face changes into something dark, showing severe pain, as his body is being roughly invaded and overrun without his consent. First he grits his teeth, imagining Monet’s berm, hoping he could escape this. At least, in his mind. But it’s no use. His body bounds in a harsh rhythm as the unkind hands dig into his skin. Elio hates feeling his body waving with the hip movement of this repugnant red-eyed rutting alpha behind him. Elio screws his eyes shut harder, in desperation. Trembling hard as the only thing he could hear is the nasty smacking sound of flesh echoing.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / / x 3

"Ah-hah~! you like it don't you, little bitch!"

"Oo—, whoo—, he is taking it! he is taking all of your dick!"

"Yeah, you bitch. Take it. I know you like this!"

"Open your fucking eyes, you slut!"

Slap! "What did I say?" Slap! "Open your fucking eyes!" Slap!

Elio's cheek is beyond red. His temple pushed against the wall is bleeding as the rough brick surface scrapes his skin. In the fear and the horror, Elio opens his eyes.

Please... please someone... Please...

His eyes soon get pinned out.

Is it my fault I didn’t stay home?

Should I have been more cautious, careful?

Everything is numb now, the raw chaffing of his body and skin no longer feel like his own.

He is giving up.

.

Helplessly.

.

Wishing he’d just die and never wake up.

. 

And Elio's body keeps on waving as he is penetrated by rutting alphas. 

.

.

.

#

Elio wakes abruptly with a sharp gasp, as if his body is desperately reaching out for life, trying to save himself from a terrible nightmare. First thing that comes to him is the low whirring noise of the blood pressure cuff cycling. And a distinct scent he hasn't smelled in a while but recognizes without a moment of hesitation hits his nose, as Elio draws labored, rapid, and hastened breaths between his parted lips, too dry and flaky white. A couple of thin lines on his lips seep hair thin slivers of bright red. 

"Marzia," Elio barely exhales her name with pruned away voice, his chest heaving shallow and fast.

He feels his throat tense and taut, extremely dry.

"Shhh––," the voice says, as Elio feels her warm gentle palm on his shoulder, stopping him from getting up, “you’re safe,” Marzia assures him.

She tells him that he is in a hospital. Even in his state, Elio notices Marzia doing her absolute best to soothe and calm him, completely being aware of its futility.

“…how…?” Elio asks but he chokes on his words. He tries to swallow. His throat struggles and refuses his conscious voluntary motions. Elio ends up feeling smothered.

Instead of answering him, Marzia says how glade she was that the emergency services found the wallet card. The one that Marzia insisted for Elio to keep, once they came to Paris to attend the university. It’s tied to the guardianship paper, signed by his mother and father a year ago. By law, omegas lack independence. At their 18th birthday, they must be assigned to an alpha or a beta to be taken care of; make decisions for them. As Samuel and Annella are unconventional parents and respected members of the society, Elio is able to come to Paris to study as an unaccompanied Omega. Elio always hated the idea of being treated like a helpless bungling.

“Your parents are on their way,” adds Marzia, getting the sweat damp hair away from Elio’s eyes. Elio groans, limply swatting at Marzia’s kind hand. But he understands that his condition must be serious enough for Marzia to go against his wishes. Though Marzia, Elio’s childhood friend, is a full blown alpha, she never ever treated him like the other alphas did. It takes a few minutes for Elio to gain some semblance. Everything feels weird as if he is suspended in mid-air. It feels like the time he had a severe ear infection. Woozy, echo-y, out of sync, out of focus. He isn’t feeling any pain. Must be the pain killers. He knows it’s his body but all feels foreign to him. Distant. Unfamiliar.

Elio slowly gathers his surroundings. He is in a private suite. Not luxurious or the top of the line but a single private room. Elio blinks. His right leg is hoisted up in a gurney that hangs from the ceiling. He can’t feel his lips. He tries running his lips against and along each other but the tactile feedback is off. Mostly numb and strangely weird.

"Would you like me to swab your lips, Elio?" Marzia asks warmly.

Elio shakes his head. His mouth is severely parched. He is thirsty. He wants something really cold. Elio manages to move his tongue amidst the thick and gooey saliva. But it’s too tacky. And he tastes the unpleasant after-taste of blood in his mouth. Everything is wrong. Everything is off.

_How did I get here? Why am I here?_

Elio turns his head a little. His head swishes and sloshes chaotically, inside. He briefly shuts his eyes. After a couple of blinks and an arduous roll of his eyes, Elio sees the IV line. His eyelids go into rapid flutters as he is having trouble focusing. His eyes feel like they are doused with sand. Back of his eye sockets feel like they are burning. When he finally manages to bring a decent enough focus at the line of his view, Elio registers purple and black angry bruises on the skin there. On his arm. Then, his gaze moves down a little. Two of his fingers are on individual braces. And Elio registers that his thumb is held by Marzia’s soft long fingers. None of them hurt. Why doesn't it hurt? It feels like he is watching someone else through a VR glass.

.

Marzia’s voice muffles. She is asking him something but he can’t think or make out what he just heard. Elio shuts his eyes close, trying to focus on the sound. It's no use. He opens his eyes. Soon, Elio gathers that Marzia just asked him whether he'd wants some ice chips, as he sees Marzia extending a plastic spoon with an ice on it towards his mouth. Elio frowns turning his head a little. And immediately, he hears a high pitch screech. Elio shuts eyes close hard, leaning further away to escape the painful noise. Then, he remembers.

Last Thursday evening, Elio remembers he was talking to Marzia over a video chat. He didn’t want to hang out with his uni friends this weekend. When Elio asked whether she’d like to hang-out during this three day weekend, she said that she’s going away on a field trip with her classmates. It’s about two hours away. You can come join us. Elio remembers he made faces, of which made Marzia huffed out loud. Elio pouted and told her that he wanted something familiar. He wanted to stay home and watch a movie or something with his best friend. But he didn’t want to ruin Marzia’s weekend, either. So, he said, ‘remember to take lots of pictures,’ before he ended the call. Then, his thought goes,

“What day…?” asks Elio, his voice harsh, failing at the end.

Marzia takes in a quiet subdued breath first but Elio does catch the brief frown line knitting between her eyebrows, “it’s Tuesday morning. Sun is not up yet, though,” she adds tenderly. She is still holding the ugly pastel pink plastic ice bucket between her palms. Her fingers fidgeting against its dewy surface.

_Wait, Tuesday morning?_

His eyes widens a little, Elio thinks to himself; that means… I've lost three days. Marzia’s worried and concerned frown reappears. And this time, it doesn't disappear but draws only deeper. She gives a small squeeze with her hand, holding Elio’s fingers. Elio blinks a couple of times. His eyeballs feel like that they are being peeled in torturously slow motion, a layer by a layer in increments. Elio’s throat waves hard.

“...What happened?”

Marzia doesn’t answer him but Elio sees her eyes quiver, hot tears welling up. She takes in a determined breath and blinks her tears away, as she puts on a forced but a wide gentle smile.

“Rest, Elio. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

*

**Present day | a street of London, UK | the same street as the Prologue**

The fedora hat jogs across the street, minding the misty rain, and reaches to the metal gate that says in big fat red: Authorized Personnel Only. There are bunch of other signs: dead end, no street access, and so on. It’s a typical private property alley-way with no lights, a backdoor access for smoke break and a space for dumpsters. His hand comes into focus as the fedora hat takes hold of the handle on the gate. In smooth motion, he turns it counterclock-wise. Instead of the empty alley way, the door opens to a marble floored interior of what looks to be a government building. People on the street doesn’t even notice this and go on about their afternoon.

He walks in casually and closes the gate behind him. 

Inside the building, he takes off the fedora hat and tucks it under his right armpit. Then, he begins his stride in a bit of hurry down the hallway. There is no sign of his hat under his arm as he takes a wider-than-usual steps towards a dark walnut wooden door.

As he is about to reach for the door knob, the wooden door pulls open from inside. And a guy in a different shade of dark grey says with a frown:

“Two years later, I’m still cleaning up your mess.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Uhm... with any sexual assault, it doesn't matter the age, race, sexuality, gender or clothes you wore. It's a power trip by the offenders. No matter the situation, the severity, It is NOT your fault. And please, please, please remember **You are not alone**.  
> –There are many schools of thoughts in A/B/O verse and their corresponding trope components. The elements used here are in no way traditional or A/B/O canon-typical. I will do my utmost best to weave in this A/B/O verse’s detail without hampering the progression of the story line. But if you have any questions, please do let me know.  
> –Just for honest disclosure, I took in some elements from the film _Adjustment Bureau_ though I’d like to insist that the element is from the TV series _Fringe_. *quirky grin*  
> –If Elio’s own composition _me, by your name_ was written in words, [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15199829) wonderful short writing holds the sentiment of what Z meant (about him disliking certain part cause it hurts too damn much) in this chapter.  
> –Hugh Grant of Moisture: is borrowed from the skit by one of my favorite stand-up comedians, Katerina Vrana. (her last update was in March 2018, I wish for her return soon!!) If you are ever interested in the context of this expression, please find it [here](https://youtu.be/A0q9hn8hebw). timestamp: 6:07  
> –Do please feel free to let me know of what you’d like to read from this AU. I’d really like your input on this AU.  
> .  
> [ Miscellaneous Husbandry stuff ]  
> –Unlike my other posts, this one came into life by one of the readers: odd87. She reached out to me with more than just a prompt (with details and the title). In short, odd87 is the mother and I, as per usual, a transcriber. Regardless of what transpired, it only feels right that I honor where (to whom) the credit is due. This version, however, will continue as me flying solo. Meaning, do expect rearrangements and addition of plot elements. Thank you in advance for your generous understanding.  
> .  
> As always, \Thank You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Regardless of what is going on in the world, please kindly stay healthy and safe: mind, body, and soul. We need each and every one of you.


	3. Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio’s origin story and a bit about his soul-mate connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **G**

**Chapter Two. Invisible**

Elio’s wonderful parents, Samuel and Annella, are two betas.

It was a 1 in a 250,000 chance for them to naturally conceive a child of their own, let alone carry the youngling to its full term. Samuel and Annella were overjoyed. Close friends and family whom knew this wonderful couple lauded at their delightful news and congratulated them, saying “it is a pure miracle,” and “it’s a good karma coming back to you for all the great things you did.”

They declined when Annella’s physician asked whether she and her unborn child be interested in being a part of medical case study. When the local news outlet found out about this rare occasion, the couple was firm on not becoming one of sensationalized news.

In their humble charming suburban home, two carried on living their quiet normal lives. What made things more wonderful was that there was no complication. Mafalda fussed over and about endlessly, with traditional Italian recipes and natural medicine-n-remedies to help the overall health of Annella and the fetus. On the third trimester, Samuel began his three-year-long sabbatical, though Annella kept working till the day before her labor. Mafalda didn't hesitate to voice her opinion why the people in Annella's age can't be more like her, recommending a mid-wife, instead of going to the hospital.

When the contraction began, Samuel fumbled as if he became a completely different person—unlike his usual calm, collected astute-self. Manfredi was the one who ended up driving them to the hospital, with Anchise back-seat driving, as usual. The entire ride, Annella spent more energy on calming those two from bickering. Seeing her that calm-and-collected despite her condition—her breaths strenuous and shallow, in severe pain with intervals of contraction, flushed face with sweat beading on her skin—Samuel fell in love with her all over again, utterly and completely.

After nine hours of intense contraction, a little boy was born. Samuel was a messy sob. Annella ran her warm palm over her husband’s sweaty back. But doctors took a little longer before they brought the Perlman couple their infant. Samuel’s face stilled, holding his beloved’s hand. When the male nurse came, their newborn swaddled in his thick burly arms, Samuel cooed as a happy smile bloomed on his face. The lead OB/GYN trailed behind the nurse. As this huge but very tender-n-gentle male nurse handed the baby into Annella’s arms, the female alpha doctor cleared her throat. The nurse’s eyes darted a little. But he said, “you have a gorgeous baby,” with a wide smile before he exited the birthing suit. The female doctor gathered her hands in front of white coat, at the level of her belly button. Samuel could easily discern something was off.

“What’s wrong, doctor?” he asked, his palm on Annella’s sweat damp hair.

The female doctor put on a forced optimism on her face. She began with oh, nothing to alarm, and added their son didn’t seem to have any scenting glands. But she quickly assured them, their beautiful omega son may present/develop them as he matures.

“Omega biology is different as they are so rare,” she added.

But the Perlman couple did get the underlying implication.

Contrast to Samuel’s worried face, a small gentle smile bloomed on Annella’s face. And she ever-so-lovingly pressed her lips, over the thin fuzzy hair on her sleeping newborn.

“My sunshine, I’ve waited so long to meet you, darling.”

.

The Perlman couple named him, Elio, for his grandfather’s sake. The newest addition to the Perlman household grew and blossomed just like any other newly born baby, without any complications or difficulties. As Samuel and Annella being the respected middle-class members of the Italian society, they offered him a wonderful surrounding and environment for a youngling to grow-up in. It wasn’t just about the money or socially more protected status. Samuel and Annella spoke four different languages; not counting Manfredi speaking Italian dialect. Two didn’t insist on teaching their son anything in Elio’s first three years. Instead, they exposed and introduced many different things, enriching their son’s all senses without set goals or achievement deadlines. Though Samuel did sneak in reading Elio Latin as bedtime stories.

Financially, the Perlmans could afford having the help raise their youngling, Annella insisted doing as much as she was able. Saying no to wet nurses, nannies or butler. She breastfed him until his teeth became too sharp. Samuel, with his understandable clumsy- and messy-ness (of which Malfada spent more time cleaning her kitchen after, each time the professor was done), made home-made weaning baby food. By the age of four, Elio spoke German, French, and English, other than Italian.

Their Crema villa, a place of generations of Annella’s family lived, couldn’t have been more perfect for young Elio to expand his world. During the summer and winter months, three spent their days and nights immersed in its beauty. The fruit orchard and vegetable garden provided bountiful fresh and nutritious seasonal offerings. The lakeshore by the back gate too offered seasonal fresh water fishes and delicious crustaceans, other than being a place to spelunk and swim or build a sand castle and lay under the sun, during hot summer days. Young omega grew up happy, unhindered, and attended with abundant love and care, not to mention full spectrum of sensory stimulation.

One day, in Elio’s seventh year, Samuel came home to a melody of family heirloom Bösendorfer. The grand piano that belonged to his great-aunt. Elio self-taught himself and was playing a classical piece by ear. The ecstatic Professor immediately phoned Annella at work, his voice a half an octave high, letting the receiver catch the notes their son was playing on the keys. Soon, Elio had a dedicated piano tutor.

On his eleven’s birthday, as Elio insisted he wanted to celebrate it in the villa where winter arrived a little bit earlier than usual, Samuel and Annella witnessed how wholesome and joyful their son was. Elio glowed endlessly from homemade cake and simple birthday fair. His best friend Marzia brought him an old scorebook that were no longer in print. She said that she and her mom found it from a second hand book store. The edges yellowed by passage of time but the cover and the blank pages were still new. Elio was ecstatic. Before bed, after everyone went home and things were put away, their omega son complained about an itch around his lower belly.

“…Here…,” Elio lowered his pajama pants, with a little pout.

A rash appeared to be localized just above the crest where his upper inner thigh and his lowest right belly.

“Did it happen today?” Annella asked gently with her kind eyes.

Elio shook his head and said that it has been itching for a couple of days. Before we came here? do you think it was a bug bite? And Mafalda went into her usual fuss about the surge of a bed bugs adding that they must vacuum little Elio’s mattress and change his sheets once they go back to the city. Annella promised that she’d take Mafalda-inspected fresh sheets from here was when Mafalda finally calmed down. Samuel hummed an old lullaby while putting a soothing ointment over his son's irritated lower belly.

At the age of 12, Elio began transcribing the music. When Annella asked, her omega son answered nonchalantly, “I was just bored. It makes time go by faster.”

.

It was by a far-reaching fluke. One day, while sitting in front of his hand-me down desk after lending Maynard (their thirteenth summer house guest) a bottle of black ink, Elio smelled something very lemony and sweet. He quickly lifted his head, turning his head left and right. And, he flipped his wrist. It’s almost ten in the evening. Mafalda has long gone by now. So, it's not from kitchen. Then, Elio heard him.

\ “oh, sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me,” \ said the voice.

Eyes wide, Elio didn’t know what to do. There was no one around.

\ “Did I lose you? _Fuck_! Hey, are you still there?” \ asked the voice.

 _Opft, he swore. So he is older than I am. Why am I saying ‘He’?_ It was coming from in his head. And his right iliac region itched.

“uh…Hi,” Elio answered.

\ “hi.” \

“urm…," with piqued curiosity and a ton of good emotions with a mountain of anticipation, Elio felt weird. _Good_ weird, "uh...how are you? can you hear me okay?”

\ “I’m doing well, it’s a little distant. But I hear you. How are you?” \

“Good, good, I hear you in my voice.”

\ “The same,” \ offered the voice.

“uhh––, are you eating something tart and sweet?” asked Elio. _So smooth_ , Elio chided himself. What a question to ask after a first 'hello'? Urrghhh–

\ “Yeah, yeah, I was eating lemon meringue.” \

Elio found himself being mysteriously soothed by the way he was laughing.

“That’s what it was. Pie or cookie?”

\ “Pie. Wow.” \

And Elio and he talked all night until the world around him turned in magnificent blue hue just before the dawn. That morning’s sunrise, Elio recalls till this day, was the most memorable sunrise he had ever seen.

.

Elio presented his first heat a few months before his 16th birthday. Thanks to Mafalda, Elio was given a neutral shot before he succumbed to his primal desire to be sated—as his parents were away at work.

Even when his secondary organs matured, Elio didn’t develop his scenting glands. As if someone just plucked them out of his DNA. The OB/GYN, pediatricians and specialists tested his entire body. The lab results showed that even his slick lacks the necessary chemicals to attract possible mate.

“Please understand. Mister Elio is perfectly healthy. His secondary organ is well-developed, conducting signals well. Though I must say it is on the smaller side,” the specialist in Milan began, "the size doesn't correlate directly with any medical dysfunction.

“Unless you say it out loud, no one will know Elio is an omega, born between two betas. He is that healthy. His mental and psychological stability is way above national average. A happy young adult, I assure you.”

“But…?” Samuel cautiously asked.

“There is no ‘but,’ professor Perlman. If you are wondering about his lack of glands matter, yes, it is true he lacks them, medically. However, the reflex of collected tissue demonstrated that the secretion of sexual lubricant amount is adequate. Also, at this time, we cannot simply conclude whether young Elio could conceive or not. Male omegas, just like any other secondary gendered male, grow until their mid-20s,” then he flipped a couple of pages in his tablet.

“Oh, yes, here,” he pulled his chair closer to the couple, “in his psychological evaluation, there is no fear or resentment towards his own biology or existence. You two raised a wonderful human being.”

It was a complete surprise for Samuel and Annella to hear a prestigious alpha male specialist to have such an open mind. What surprised Samuel was that this specialist didn’t say any careless statements he expected to hear.

Samuel and Annella didn’t care: or at least they acted as such in front of Elio. Elio’s lack-there-of scenting glands had wonderful benefits. Young adult Elio didn’t have to use any synthetic masking products to hide his identity. In a way, it was freeing experience for him. He naturally passed as a sharp tongued beta. On top of that, Elio didn’t have to take birth controls as his not-there glands didn’t broadcast his physiological changes. They did, however, keep the prescription strength neutral shots handy, just in case Elio would get overly inebriated with basal desires, during his heat.

When their son would get antsy and edgy during his heat, they would have him lie down on their lap, sitting over their remastered/restored 18th century couch, and soothed and reassured him. Telling Elio of his origin story, how he is a 1 in 250,000 chance miracle born, under two betas. That, he is meant for great things. That he will have someone just as magnificent as how he came to them. When that day comes, whoever will be so lucky to have Elio as their partner.

"When? not if?" Elio mumbled looking up at his parents.

"Yes, tesoro, when.”

But,

Elio knew he is not normal. As an omega who grew up in a small town where everybody knows everyone, he has always been ‘they,’ and ‘other.’

Kids say things at school. Even Marzia mentioned it a couple of times. Oddly, Elio didn’t resent the fact that he didn’t have any boyfriend or girlfriend. One, he wasn’t really interested in having one. Two, there was no one, maybe Chiara for a little while, who captured or sparked his interest.

.

\ “That was wonderful. Who’s it by?” \

Elio abruptly paused his fingers on the keys. It has been almost a year since they last spoke. Elio didn’t answer immediately. _Why of all days... why today??_ Elio resented the timing. 

\ “Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s uh… it’s just that we don’t get a good connection like this. And I… .” \

“No, no, don’t be sorry. Thank you. I hope I’m not annoying you. How have you been?”

\ “Maybe today I did something and it’s the first time I heard you play. First I thought it was coming from some place close by but… .” \

Elio just smiled. And he immediately felt him relax a little.

\ “uhmm… am I reaching about you feeling sad?” \ the voice asked. And just as quickly, he retracted and apologized.

Elio fidgeted, sitting in front of the keys, and said nothing. Maybe he wanted the voice to go away. Maybe he was hoping the person on the other side to catch on what was going on with him, without him spelling out what he had overheard at the doctor’s office. Either way, Elio stayed silent. Regretfully, there was no more. No communication. No other senses.

.

One rainy afternoon on 17th year, Elio climbed up to Marzia’s room, his body tingling with desire he didn’t think he could have. Him running a few temperatures high. Feverish and uncontrollably aroused. Elio wanted Marzia to sate him that day. He kissed her with desperate fervor and bottomless want.

"Wait, wait, wait,” Marzia pulled away, her lips swollen and glistening with their mixed saliva.

Elio glanced down at her crotch. And he couldn’t help but to gasp. She wasn’t aroused at all. Her biology failed to react and align with Elio’s. That was when Elio was struck hard with the blatant reality. Him being born without scenting glands meant he is destined to be unmated. The kiss, touch and tactile alone would not allow him to connect fully with anyone. All of a sudden, Elio began to sob.

As a good long-time childhood friend, Marzia wholeheartedly tried her very best to soothe and calm him, pulling Elio into her embrace.

"There’re so many of us already. And there’s this thing called ‘unmated but in love.’ I love you. I will always love you,” Marzia said to him quietly.

Of course, Elio understood what she meant yet it only made him more upset. She quickly added Elio being like this doesn’t mean he is week or a lesser of a human being. Marzia, then, lulled him to sleep promising him that she will always be his best friend.

That day, Elio marked in his head the meaning of fate. His heart heavy and empty.

.

Elio is 19 now.

Marzia, a gorgeous full blown alpha, still is Elio’s loyal best friend, a confidant, to this day. She even chose to apply for the same college in Paris. So she can be close to Elio. Although Elio finds every excuses to grumble at how unreasonably protective she gets around him, at times.

French people are more open and less concerned about secondary gender than that of B and Crema. His professors and classmates adore him, of his talent with piano. Not having a partner, as it turns out, gives this burgeoning artist such as himself with more freedom. He could just grab his headset, go seat at the corner spot of a square, and transcribe all day. Visit museums, hang out with Marzia without having to worry about jealousy. No one to check the schedules with. No one messing up his place or touching his things without his permission. Well, his college life, sans Mafalda, is messy enough already, though.

And having seen how passionately French lovers argue, not having a boyfriend or girlfriend spared him of young lovers’ quarrel and dramas from his life. Elio shivers at just the thought of getting into a tiff. Brrr––, he shuddered. And Elio quickly grabs the salt shaker and swishes it over his shoulders.

Yet,

Elio has known that is not enough.

Because an omega born without the necessary physiology, he has been destined to be alone.

_Invisible._

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –no personal preference as usual; but Bösendorfer is from the movie.  
> –for some reason, this verse’s Pr. Samuel was given to me as one of those husbands who makes more sound when his wife is pushing, biting his own knuckles, and sweat as if he is the one in contraction.  
> –I’m aware you have questions. And some of them will be answered in the next chapter, I promise.  
> .  
> As always, Thank you for reading, your time and interest.  
> unless there’s any unexpected event, I shall see you back in these ones and zeros, tomorrow. *salute*  
> oh, yes, _Please_ stay healthy and safe: mind, body, and soul.


	4. Anywhere But Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s origin story to the first time he met Elio. And someone did try to get in the way of these two meeting for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **G**  
> .  
> ehrr–, part two of this AU set-up. [ translation ] long and can be a dense read.  
> 

**Chapter Three. Anywhere But Here**

_The. “Chambers”. Group_.

The extensive lines of elite bloodline of upper echelons in the imperial democratic country of United States of America; the name rooted in that conquering nation since the long era before its founding fathers.

Oliver was never just him. From the day he was born, he had to carry the larger-than-life namesake on his shoulders. Once the second generation was birthed in the early 18th Century where the region that is now known as New England, the last name morphed into more than just a family name. Despite the Old World’s Jewish tradition, the Chambers has comfortably become the top-tier one percent. The _Elite_ : an empire in and of itself.

Seven years prior to Elio’s birth, there was a little boy. Unlike the rest of the citizen, Oliver has been planned and designed, meticulously, politically, and socio-economically. His mother is also from a respectable elite family: a new money. The fourth generation to be exact. Oliver’s grandparentage from his mother side is a little sketchy as their status has been gained through accidental discovery of crude oil well, near the region where the Fairchild’s have done so. Hence, the new money. No class or European lineage of their own, for the Chambers’ point of view, but rich and influential nonetheless.

The marriage of Oliver’s father and mother was arranged. Two alphas. Because they are painstakingly American, Oliver’s mother has been altered at her birth, though she is an alpha. Despite the socio-econo-political significance, her features weren’t up-to-par with the Chambers’. Non-blond, non-blue or green eyes, button nose, not as plump lips.

But as the Chambers has been more focused on expanding their hold in the world, merging two powerful empires took precedent. Once the agreements were settled, the necessary (and crucially important) legal documents were signed, two young alphas tied the knot. It was a spectacle of the decade. Whosewho-s and whatswhat-s attended. World’s leaders sent gifts and their envoys. The world media covered their over-the-top severely extravagant wedding charade as if two were some loyalty or celebrity.

Naturally, Oliver’s mother was tasked to give birth to the only finest specimen to carry on the gigantean name. The Chambers didn’t waste any time, money, or resources. Only the top of the lines: geneticist, neo-natal specialists, nutritionists. They didn’t even hesitate on bringing in traditional and non-scientific methods, either. The rumor has it that the Chambers had commissioned a prayer group and mythic chanters to give devotion and thanks for how-many-ever-days to assure that heaven and earth would bless their upcoming next generation.

Oliver’s mother, a new Chambers by marriage, happily (though not as overtly) endured the whole process. Because, all her life she dreamed of becoming a mother. A sentiment her parents tartly dismissed as un-alpha-like. She was taught to hide her un-alpha-like twishes and traits well under her poised veneers. She beared down and endured all the crazy whirl-wind that the Chambers were throwing at her direction. The tonics she had to drink, the do-s and don’t-s, even the witchcrafty practices. She was never free. Her decision was never hers. Her day was planned, controlled, and executed like a clock-work without her say in them. Still, the fact that she was carrying her future baby made everything worth it.

As predicted, she gave birth to a piercing blue-eyed and shining honey blond alpha boy. The geneticist who was in charge of the whole operation(?) became the president of the national science coalition. A prestigious increase of his family name bestowed graciously by the Chambers.

Ahh–––, poor dear. After nine-hours of induced labor (as the fabled medicine woman the family hired prophesized that the boy must be born on that day within the certain time window, for the greater continuum and expansion of the Chambers’ power), the sweet moment only lasted for a few moments.

She wasn’t allow to feed him as the infant nutritionist took over the job. She wasn’t allowed to hold him or hug him more than just a simple greet. She wasn’t allowed to read him bed time stories. She wasn’t allowed to teach him skills or play with him.

From the age of five, Oliver was carded off to one of the prestigious boarding school. He was forced to learn multiple languages, the high class manners, horse riding, archery, fencing, you name it. He was taught how to carry himself, down to the way he walked and breathed. No American postures!, the prefect of the school scolded in a calm tone with a light whip of a stick on his lower back.

“You must speak with the air of command and presence. We are not commoners.”

Oliver was never allowed to be just a child. Things always had to be proper and by the book.

As he came into this world having everything and as a designer baby, he excelled in every field. This young alpha matured and grew exuding wealth, the beauty, and the class. _A fine specimen_ , was his grandfather’s last word at his death bed to the young adolescent.

Oliver was never allowed to be just a child. Things always had to be proper and by the book. As he came into this world, having everything and as a designer baby, he excelled in every field. This young alpha matured and grew exuding wealth, the beauty, and the class. A fine specimen, was his grandfather’s last word at his death bed to the young adolescent.

Oliver, however, somehow learned how to sneak out once his butlers and maids cleared him to retire to his room. He put on the t-shirt and a baseball cap. To go see his mother, five miles away, with his tattered bicycle.

Though too far and in between escapes, she read him her favorites: Walt Whitman, Anton Chekhov, and Jane Austin. Oliver's mother taught him the humanity, the compassion, and most importantly, the virtue of being himself.

“Mom?” thirteen year-old Oliver began. Though that reunion was after 11 months gap.

“Yes, my precious sapphire,” she responded with deep adoration imbued voice. The two were sitting by the fire.

“How come I can smell betas?”

She pauses for a moment. Oliver readjusted himself next to her, to look her in her eyes.

“What do you mean, my dear?” she asked softly.

Though she tried to hide it, Oliver noticed her concern from her face.

“At school, one of my classmate is beta. She is very shy and other kids shun her. Calling her names and making fun of her. Being a lesser gender. How inferior she is for neither being an alpha nor an omega. As if she is in limbo, in the middle.

In the biology class, the teacher said that betas don’t have any distinct scent. But I always know when she comes in, without looking. At first, I thought it was her clothes. A fabric softener. Then, I thought it was her perfume. But it wasn’t.”

Oliver’s mother hummed, quietly.

“What does she smell like?”

“She smells like bubble gum. The raspberry kind.”

“My sapphire, did you share this with anyone?”

Oliver shook his head. A soft and kind smile bloomed on his mother’s face.

“It is a gift, my darling.”

“A gift?”

“Yes, my dear. You are not like other alphas. You are able to sense someone deeply than what most people in this world cannot.”

Oliver’s face softened, though he tried his best not to show his inner turmoil about his non-usual olfactory sense, it was clear to his mother that it worried him. Young Oliver blinked a couple of times, processing what his mother just told him.

“Can you smell betas, too, mother?”

She didn’t answer but a wide smile colored her face, her magnificent brown eyes disappearing into the wings of seagulls in full flight. Then, she brought her forefinger to her lips and ever-so-quietly went, “shhhh–––.”

And Oliver knew exactly what she meant.

.

Who knew that was the last time Oliver would ever see his mother?

She was sent to Singapore as a chief operations officer (COO) to manage the Asian region of the Chambers Corporation. Though Oliver did try, his academic schedule became so hectic and heavy, he just couldn’t spare time to fly out to meet her. Just like his relatives and half-brothers & half-sisters, Oliver was told to be interested in economics and politics.

.

Something did begin to stir inside him.

It started with a journal he read in his 9th grade. An article written by a beta professor from one of the world-renown Italian University. It was an eloquently and expertly written exposé slash op-ed. What stood out for Oliver was not just the content and the style but the fact that Oliver could feel the passion and conviction of the said writer, completely unfiltered. How can someone write like this? Oliver was in awe. Three-page article from this academic touched Oliver so much, he couldn’t get it out of his head, for a full month. So, each spare time he’d get, (after making sure he was on top of his class, winning awards and chess matches,) Oliver studied and learned. He immersed himself in the world of history, arts, and music. He fell in love with the power of the freedom of expression that touched so many souls–of not just that era the artwork was produced but far reaching across no matter the time and the generation. Regardless of language, no matter the culture, no matter the class. Oliver couldn’t get enough of it.

Ae he was very good at keeping his well-groomed façade, he was also very good at compartmentalizing his lives. He prepared and stayed quiet. Biding his time for the right moment to strike. Since he was the ‘third in line’ (under the strict succession rule set by the Chambers lineage), Oliver rebelled and decided to major in Ancient studies. It was a back-hand move that surprised everybody. The slew of advisors and counselors said in an air of nonchalance that with Oliver being ahead two years already, they were so generous enough to _allow_ Oliver acting-out during his highteen adolescence. In truth, no one could touch him. And Oliver knew this so very well. The trust fund was set long before, on top of him getting full scholarship via various venues and awards. Not to mention, his mother being the COO of Asian division of the Chambers.

Oliver excelled and triumphed; yes, he graduated highschool with BA under his belt.

.

Then something much unexpected happened. The very first time Oliver felt something very unusual was during the semi-final debate tournament. It was mid-November, a couple of months before his high school graduation. Feeling the connection might not be an apt description. Because Oliver broke out into uncontrollable laugh, the serious, laugh-out-loud ‘ha ha ha,’ laugh, when he was supposed to take the next round of the argument. It was involuntary; it was genuine; it was liberating.

Technically, to think about it, it wasn’t really a surprise. Because, for the past few days, Oliver had this incredible itch just under his left arm, inside of his upper arm in between part of triceps and the biceps. First he thought of it as a skin irritation. Back then, Oliver didn’t imagine that he was going through one of soul-connection symptoms.

Philosophers long theorized that as a species with high-brain function probably required more tangible reason to couple and procreate. In other words, it doesn’t make sense as corporeal procreation doesn’t require much high-brain function. Because, in scholarly and scientific point of view, simple desire to breed and pass on the gene as the generation progress cannot be the only reason as a fraction of you or us is bound to carry on. (first generation: half-half; second gen.: quarter-quarter, so on.) Evolution biologists have hypothesized–by tracing mtRNA structures and cross-species comparisons with the help of thousands and thousands years old archeological remains–that two individuals who are designated as soul mates possess linked codex in their gene pool. Historically, the earliest mention of soul bonding and soulmate was approximately around the pre-historic age (the Minoan civilization). Very recently discovered Ancient Sumerian texts eluded the similar narrative, but in a mythological manner. At the same time, a rare but significant number of people who were born without the said codex existed throughout the history. These population, one in one hundred thousand, often chose the priest-or-nun-hood of various religion. As the centuries progressed, even those who are born with the soulmate gene are allowed to devout themselves into the belief of their choice. Because some are bonded with a partner who are deemed as possessed by demons or cursed (lack of understanding about mental illness, the effect of poisonous substances such as lead in cosmetics Bronze Age, arsenic in wall paper during Victorian Age, radioactive materials as vitamin in 1950s, etc.), and criminals (from the real psychopaths and serial killer to the victims of political and religious persecution). And a small number of codex-less persons are well-known explorers, philosophers, behavioral scientists, who thrive on being alone, untethered, free to see the world, and leave their legacy through their long life’s work.

But no one knows exactly when this essential trait of human bond began or how it came to existence. It has been the way things were for humans: no matter the age, no matter the race, no matter the country, no matter the gender (including the second gender), no matter the socio-economical class, no matter the political view. And something to look forward to for little kids to turn eleven: one of monumental steps of growing up. Until, something disguise as free-will interfered.

It only took less than three decades, of what current generation academics come to call ‘bad breeding,’ to knock this still-veiled integral attribute of human existence out of its balance. Though long history preferred female omegas as their true mates, it was the elitists who started the culture of alpha-alpha bonding in late 1910s. What an out of any era of civilization's unnatural notion it was. Yet it only took a few number of Hollywood portrayal-n-program and TV ads. Well, S. Freud's newphew Edward Bernays had his hand on it, too. As a result, the natural soul-bonding had to be forced apart, artificially. The governing economic class devised a clever plan (the step two) to get their agenda settled into the general public. Male omegas became the target for negative propaganda citing statistics(of infant mortality rate, omega male specific maladies, etc) to sound as though the agenda they were pushing was truly scientific and historical fact. Male omegas soon became shunned by the mess regardless of couple’s soul bond status. Families were ripped apart. Childrens were taken away. Cities and governments started to build separate schools specifically for male omegas, with the program that preventing from honoring the physiological soul-bond emergence. Naturally, male omega population decreased significantly, making the soul-bond connection that of modern history. Rarity. 

So, when Oliver didn’t get his soulmate mark once he turned eleven, Oliver chucked it off as him being him. Yes, he heard things; from the help, his driver, his body guard, his tutors. They whispered and gossiped amongst themselves about how Oliver is a designer baby. A blasphemy! Meddling with God’s work, the hushed voice at the corner was instantly caught off by another with white gloved hands. But it didn’t miss young Oliver’s ear as he was escorted to another room for yet another lesson. For that reason, it seemed inevitable for him to not have a soul mate. What were the chances anyways, he thought to himself. Soulbond emergence has already become rare and.. and... . In some way, Oliver found some peculiar sense of relief for not having a soulmate: even that young. Because there is no way that his family will ever allow the natural bond.

.

Standing in the middle of the auditorium stage, Oliver did his best to consciously subdue his intense joy. As the culture already has a fair level acceptance on sudden soul-connection, Oliver was able to request a recess and he finished his counter argument with clarity and crisp precision. Of course, his name-sake and being an alpha afforded him more leeway of this rare phenomenon. Oliver gathered that 80 percent of this reaction in him belonged to his soulmate; other 20 was from Oliver being glad of having to experience what he only read in the book. He felt an odd mixture of exhilaration and rebellious excitement; as if Oliver’s existence was now coming into a full present tense. He dumped his chest with a distinct expression on his face. A look of Eureka and in extreme high.

.

His soul-half seeped in slowly. Almost shy, bordering coy, and somewhat clandestine like they want to stay behind a thin veil. Each person experiences their soulmate differently, obviously. Some share their connection through five senses and others actually have a conversation telepathically. Some may share the similar scars (sometimes, matching ones) though they didn’t actually suffer the injury no matter how small or insignificant they may be.

Since that afternoon during the tournament, Oliver could always feel their presence and has been rationally aware that they are really there. Yet it was rather frustrating feat. Don’t get him wrong, Oliver was happy that he has a soulmate. Better late than never, right? But Oliver has been feeling he could almost reach out yet he could never really get to touch or see. Juust out of reach. His mate really was in no hurry. Are they doing it deliberately? Oliver thought to himself. In the end, he juat shrugged it off.

The next thing Oliver realized was that his soul mark started to appear as though it has some pattern. For a longest time, the area just stayed slightly red. According to the books Oliver read, individually unique soul bonding mark appears in own unique manners. On top of that, individual experiences vary as the placement and exactly in what style-n-form deeply depended on the bond pair. The mark can be a figure, symbol, writing, code, etc. So, though not entirely recognizable, Oliver was glade the itch on his skin was morphing into something. 

As time went by, he gradually found himself being drawn to classical music, especially that of piano. Oliver was glad that there were several record stores near his college campus. As he leafed through the old copies of vinyls, he chuffed under his breath. Because the before soul-connection Oliver was more into rock: electric guitars, drums, bass. The genre that now belongs to classic rock.

Then, Oliver noticed another thing happening to him. An extrovert who always has felt energized being in the crowd, his soul mate’s timidity bled into him. It was new and curious sensation for him. At some point the process, Oliver wondered whether he really was an extrovert. His new found joy has now become just sitting on the grass, soaking up the sun, reading and listening to long line of piano classics. And they were quite satisfying, indeed.

.

And one day while he was killing some time at the local 24-hour diner after an all-nighter before his morning run, Oliver heard him in his own voice. He wasn't talking to Oliver. It was the very first time. As if he was enchanted, Oliver set in his diner booth trying to make out what exactly he was saying. It was very distant at first. As he focused, the voice turned into something like an one-side phone conversation under water. His sleep deprived state long forgottened, Oliver kept trying. Basically, eavesdropping. The graveyard shift changed into morning shift, then to afternoon shift was when Oliver spoke to him. (p.s. that was only one another day Oliver skipped jogging in the morning.) Technically, he asked Oliver a question. He was indulging on a slice of lemon meringue pie. After a brief awkward moment, two talked on, even when Oliver decided to walk through the park after leaving a generous tip. Then through the sunset. The outside weather was simply incredible. They talked about everything under the sun. Oliver was impressed how well versed he was. Yet, for some reason, two danced around about the subject of personal information. Oliver did want to ask more about them: their name, their age (though Oliver knew _he_ was younger), what they do, the name of achool they go to.

“Goodness, you can yawn–,” Oliver said, as he too was led automatically and unconsciously to mirror him, stretching out his limbs lazily, yawning.

“I’ve never been awake this long yet I don’t feel like I want to sleep," Oliver added. 

\ “Where are you?” \

“New York, it’s just passed my usual bed time,” Oliver answered fondly.

\ “New York, that’ll be... around quarter after ten. A boy scout. You need to sleep.” \

Oliver chuckled, “Where are you?”

\ “In Europe.” \

“You know there are 44 countries in Europe.”

That was when Oliver heard their laugh for the first time, still in his voice though. It was something very hard for him to describe. His laughs felt so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. But Oliver instantly knew he loved how _he_ laughed.

\ “I live in Italy,” \ the voice answered.

“Uft, hell, that means… it’s almost sunrise.”

For some reason, Oliver felt as though he was looking out into a wonderful sunrise by the sea.

.

Soon he received another bachelors. Not to mention masters. Oliver wrote subversive reviews and opinions while pursuing his PhD. He actively utilized his family influence to start the grassroots movements. During his last year of college, Oliver felt that he was finally setting himself free. Becoming a man of himself. Or so he thought.

A month before his graduation, the time Oliver was so excited with the anticipation of spending full 21 days and 20 nights with his mother as his graduation gift, her private plane crashed, mysteriously.

A devastating blow.

Oliver locked himself up north in Montana: one of his mother’s old family cabin. He lived there as a hermit, letting the bone-chilling bity air soothe him. He didn’t want to feel. His heart ached and ached but there was nothing he could do. His dear mother was gone. Soon, the time came, but he didn’t attend his mother’s funeral. Oliver wasn’t going to attend just another charade of the Chambers' demonstration of their influence and power over the world, with an empty casket. He just simply couldn’t. Because... It would only have been a jarring reminder of her absence. Maybe it was an excuse for his wild plight of desperately try to cope; by imagining that she might possibly be alive somewhere. Her hair in the soft warm breeze, full bloom of wonderful carefree smile on her face. And… and… and…

In the end, Oliver didn’t want to let her go. I won't, Oliver gritted his teeth, swallowing his tear. Not because I can't but I just won't. Oliver told himself.

. 

Whenever the Chambers folks would visit, Oliver didn’t hesitate to point a shot-gun aimed right at their faces, with the dead stare. A couple of them sure did actually dared to call his bluff and got shot: one in right their foot and the other on the thigh. Oliver didn’t care. Because nothing else mattered. Just before September, his mother's trusted assistant, Elena, visited him: alone. No posse, no associates, no body guard. She didn’t greet him or say anything but offered her sad smile, her slender hand on her chest. That was when Oliver finally cried. He bawled an ugly sob, hunched over in her lap. Elena just had her hand on his shuddering shoulders. She didn’t shh-ed him or tried to soothe or offer comforting words. But she simple gave him space and time to process all his bottled up emotions. By the time, Oliver settled (his eyes swollen beyond measure, Elena’s suit pants soaked in Oliver’s salty sorrow), Elana brought out a box. Just one. Oliver blinked. She just dipped her head lightly. It contained old copies of the books his mother used to read to him. The ones that her hands touched. Each and every page: cover to cover. 

Oliver sobbed and bawled more. He didn’t know he had that much tear in him.

.

Three seasons went by and Oliver was able to find some semblance. He began to let himself learn how to live on. He was glad that he didn’t choose the family cabin in Cape Cod. The winter up here in Montana was great. Heavy flurries of snow quieting everything. Under the thick blanket of pale white snow, things didn’t matter: your class, your gender, your situation. It was comforting to know, in the end, nothing was permanent. The wax and wane of life. The snow will fall and they will melt. Fallen leaves and branches will become a part of this mountain side, giving nourishment for the coming spring. Animals and creatures went into hibernation will soon come out.

Yet, for Oliver, seasons changed but they really didn’t.

.

On his bi-weekly downtown grocery supply run, at the end of March, Oliver was hit with the familiar scent. It reminded him of his mother. Though it wasn’t exactly the same, the scent was close enough: it soothed him.

That was when he met Henry.

He was about 5’11’’, dark brown hair with pale blue eyes. He said he was backpacking around Montana, adding he’s a Brit. Two talked for hours that afternoon, the grocery run all but forgotten. Oliver discovered that Henry was studying in Paris. As a beta, Henry couldn’t resist the strapping young alpha. Because Henry was keen to notice Oliver’s wealth and his overwhelming need for companionship. One thing led to another, Oliver fell hard for him. In return, Henry cancelled rest of his backpacking plan and stayed with Oliver. Two were barely 21. Henry was over the moon as he was able to enjoy the finer things in life. And Oliver poured himself to Henry, unconditionally. The private plane, the designer clothes, leisure sports, and other long list of privileges, exquisite things. All came to Henry with little resistance he had never dreamed of, in his entire life.

As the end of Henry’s trip came near, Oliver was consumed with the more-than-likely possibility of being left alone, again. Fully knowing Oliver was clinging to Henry as a clutch for balance, quite possibly for the wrong reason. But Oliver quickly rationalized to himself that Henry truly loved him and he too was in love with him. That with Henry, Oliver believed he could lead a normal life. So he decided to take the offer that has been standing, long before his graduation. A TA position in Paris. Because in Oliver’s mind, only one thing mattered. Because, Oliver has been repeating the same thing over and over to himself:

_Anywhere but here._

So a month later, they moved to Paris, a little condo, in downtown Paris. Oliver settled himself in a home-away-from-home truly believing that he found the love of his life. Because, although Henry is a beta, although his scent wasn’t exactly the same as his mother’s, it was as good as he’d get. Oliver thought to himself that Henry’s smile resembled that of his mother’s. Maybe because of this belief, Oliver being thankful for what he has, he blossomed as a TA, as he was getting his PhD in two separate studies.

Naturally, he became busy. Oliver started to get recognitions in his field of academia. He published a book about Heraclitus. For the first time in his life, Oliver could earn his way without using his family money. He was so proud of himself and for him, things couldn’t have been more perfect.

Three busy years went by and Oliver came home after attending the conference at Provence. He brought the bottles of local wines and a couple of high-end cheese home for Henry, only to find him shacked up with another alpha. He was younger: blond but longer hair, leaner and model-ask.

“Oliver, I can explain!” Henry tried to appease him, with his lips swollen pink, his body and hair reeked of the other guy.

.

The agonizing betrayal landed hard on Oliver. And the stark realization of being used by Henry for his agenda, the messy break-up followed. But what bothered Oliver the most was his own willing ignorance. The blinder he put on himself. The fact that Oliver trapped himself in his own idealized fantasy, thinking Henry genuinely loved him. In retrospect, the signs were there. Out in the open. Oliver just chose not to see or recognize it. As an alpha, he didn’t think himself as a push-over or a person who could be easily fooled or manipulated. But, it was all about the material stuff: the money, the fancy life style, the ease of doing things as Henry saw fit. Ever changing, often so fickle and fleeting.

He sold the condo. And he took two semesters off from assisting and stayed in a small old house far away from city. And all the unresolved emotions and anger gurgled back up. This time, he really felt like he was drowning. It was as if his body was being pulled by the ankle, down to fathomless cold ocean floor. So he finally decided to seek professional help. Sure enough, Oliver was right. The whole Henry fiasco was because of his unresolved resentment about his youth and his stubborn refusal to deal with his mother’s sudden passing. Although he was able to unburden his heart and calm his inner storm with the help of a counselor, he couldn’t curve the aftermath of his damaged heart.

Thankfully, the work saved him: he was requested back to assist his old professor. And Oliver poured all his waking hours and passion into it. As if that was the only thing in his life. From outside looking in, nothing has changed. Everything was as it should be. A third-in-line next generation Chambers, who has everything–even the envy, the adoration and the jealousy of the mass by just having that last name.

One fine autumn afternoon, a sudden thought hit him; if I really want to shed all this, I must start with my name. Because it was the name he was born into made him suffer. And Oliver scowled hard as the vivid recollection of the day he found Henry tangled with a look-alike of himself in their own bed. So, without giving any more consideration or thought, Oliver took a leap. A huge gusto one. An unusual move for an alpha from his upbringing. No one in the right mind would normally dare to choose. Yet, Oliver chucked this radical realization as one good benefit of the hours of counseling he did a few months back. With the help of Elena, now a well-respected estate-n-inheritance attorney, Oliver erased any ties with the Chambers from his life. He changed his last name to one of his mother’s favorite authors. He requested his records to be sealed. It took a good six months. He quit his well-paying job and became a TA at the local city university. Not as prestigious but classrooms were filled with students who actually wanted to learn. It was immensely satisfying and fulfilling. And for the first time in long years, Oliver felt he was getting to know who he truly was.

.

Oliver is now 26.

It is a one fine day. Nothing special but it is one of those rare cloudless sunny morning near the end of the Spring Semester. The Paris traffic is terrible as usual. Oliver folds himself into his restored classic Fiat as he did for the past two year or so. The university review board has been reviewing his status as a candidate for an adjunct professor. He could not hide his anticipation that morning. Because he might be getting a good news that day, once he arrives at his tiny corner desk.

The red light turns green and Oliver snaps out of his thoughts. When he is just about to put his foot on the gas paddle, a rushing figure comes into his peripheral vision and in front of his car. Oliver swiftly steps on the break. Without a moment to process what just happened, Oliver hears a loud:

“HEY!!!”

Oliver frantically shifts the gear to ‘park’ and pulls on the engine break and about to get out of his car is when he hears,

“(Watch where you are going! You moron!!)” the lanky guy appears above the line of bonnet, giving him the back of his two fingers with a scowl, “Vaffanculo!” before he hurries himself along across the street on his electric skateboard.

Oliver heard him correctly. It wasn’t French. And this brazen guy just blamed him.

Horns are blazing behind and around; along with a copious amount of swear words in the air. For a split second, all Oliver could do is to just sit there in his old Fiat. Completely forgotten the time and the place. Dazed and shocked. His heart is pounding hard.

Once he is able to snap himself out, (those few seconds felt like hours) Oliver reaches for the handle of the door. Funnily enough, it doesn’t open. Strange, door latch mechanism never gave him trouble no matter how vintage his Fiat was. Oliver tugs at it a couple of times but it is too late. The guy with unruly curls swears some more as Oliver decides to roll down his window. And he canno believe himself. As the dark curly and extremely rude guy is already on his motion to speed away from him, Oliver’s nose catch a scent. On top of a distinct impression. He’s an omega. Oliver wonders why no one else in the street is acting any different. Is it because his scent is extremely subtle? Or is the wind blowing in a different direction? Because the scent is definitely of an Omega. By the time, he manages to unfold himself out of his tiny old vehicle, the rude Italian guy is already a block away.

More swear words boom and balk around Oliver who, this time, simply stands in middle of traffic with fuzzy warmth and strangely awe-struck—as if time around him paused. 

That is the first time he saw Elio.

.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Simultaneously, in the streets of Paris, France ]

A guy with an artist/painter hat runs as if he is running sprint course for the Olympics. He is running in his expertly ironed long sleeved white dress shirt and a heather grey suit vest over a black tapered suit pants. Then, he is faced with an abrupt delay by the street light. Panting hard, he looka down at the hardbound A5 notebook in his grip, as he wipes his palm over his forehead. His head turns towards right then to left.

In the not too distant view, Oliver’s Fiat is approaching to a stop light. From the corner, Elio is coming close towards the crosswalk of the same intersection on his electric skateboard, his hands shoved into his jeans.

“This cannot be happening,” the grey beret mutters.

As Elio reaches close to the edge of the sidewalk, the guy’s eyes focuses at where Oliver is looking. Then, back to Elio, who is making some odd face expression of impatience.

“Don’t look, don’t look,” the grey beret mumbles at Oliver’s direction.

It is a very long 45 seconds. The guy stares at his open notebook and gnawes at his cheek until the light turnes green.

“Yes!” the grey beret cheers as indistinctly as possible, dumping out his chest in a relief.

At that moment, when Oliver is just about to put his foot on the gas paddle, Elio pushes himself over the curve of the street.

A light screeching noise echoes, followed by the loud honks.

“No, no, no, no–,” the guy murmurs in disbelief.

As Oliver peers out from behind his windshield to see what just happened in front of his car, the grey beret’s notebook bloops low once.

“I’m not giving up,” the guy remarks to himself and he gesturea his hand as Oliver tries to get out of his car. As he witnesses Oliver struggling to open the driver’s side door, the grey beret goes, “see? I still have some tricks under my sleeves,” with a small grin.

Suddenly, his notebook sends a signal of something pending imminently.

“oh, fuck me––,” the guy says, this time, with a tone of ‘I can’t get a break.’

Oliver rolls down his window and his nose tips up. And the grey beret’s notebook indicates with thick black circle as it blinks three times.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –the tone of this chapter is not a reflection of my personal opinion or my world view. Nor any judgement or criticism. It is used here solely to draw a contrast between the two main characters, for this fic-line.  
> –Breaking my own tradition a little, I decided to take-in ECh’s last name. I don’t know why I am so reluctant on assigning Oliver’s last name. (some of you with black-belt fanfic kungfu probably have noticed that I worked around this topic as best as I can in my other AUs). Also, I’m not the one who should tell you anything about America’s history. But, as usual, I sneaked in lots of rl historical facts. In short, whatever’s here in this chapter are purely fictional and is not meant for any accurate historical representation.  
> –Electric skateboard: the image adapted from _The Beautiful Boy_ but with CMBYN short haired Elio.  
> .  
> As always, Thank \You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Your mind, body, and soul health and balance are very important to me. So, if not for you, please kindly do take care of yourselves, for this little nobody me.  
> 


	5. That Thursday Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the series of events led Elio to be cornered by five alphas. _That Thursday_ in two parts—one belongs to Elio, the other, Oliver—in one chapter.

**Chapter Four. That Thursday Evening**

**Elio's**

Everything is pitch black.

Everything is in complete mute.

Elio doesn’t know where he is.

It is a bizarre sensation.

He is aware he is there but it feels like he is removed from his body.

But there is no negative feeling.

With a crisp ring of finger snap, Elio opens his eyes and he is sitting at the bar: it’s Thursday evening. All the surrounding is reeling into him as if someone is adjusting the volume, scent, and the atmosphere.

.

The first thing Elio is feeling is anxiety.

Franco is supposed to meet him at the bar. And he is running 25 minutes late. Elio nibbles the inside of his cheeks. He notices his legs shaking in nervous tick.

_It’s a dead giveaway._

The voice in his head sounds like Marzia’s. Elio tsks under his breath, consciously stopping them. Why are you on edge? His thought in Marzia’s voice asks himself.

They met in one of the 101 classes. Franco honestly doesn’t do much work. He is not much of a wingman material, either. But for Elio, he is good a company as any. Especially a day like today. He just doesn’t want to be alone. He missed spending time with Marzia. Her soft scent of Patchouli berry at least gave him some anchor to ground himself to the reality, whenever Elio felt uneasy and tense.

_You are biting your nails again._

Elio scolds himself. Ugftt… I know. Then, he cringes his nose and takes hold of glass tumbler in front of him, and swigs the last bit of his whiskey sour. With a hard wave of his throat, Elio fishes out his cell and, no text or call. Fucking bastard, he tersely spits under his breath. Even in French time, Elio knows Franco is never going to come. He is just ditched. He groans out a low sigh. After taking another breath, he kicks himself up off the bar stool and heads to the bathroom.

Fuck!

Franco picked this place. And there is only one bathroom. Elio debates for a split second whether to just hold his bladder until he gets to his student housing. Nope, too long.

With an unmistakable glower on his face, Elio walks into the dingy bathroom. The ceramic urinal is filled with ice cubes at the bottom tinted in yellow. He could smell all those who pissed here before him. Elio pulls a couple of paper napkins from the stainless square dispenser on the wall. Then, he presses down the lever to flush. Suddenly, the door swings open.

“(Oops, excuse me, I thought it was available),” the tall guy says in French, walking backwards as he closes the door.

“(alphas, they think they know everything),” Elio says under his breath, intentionally louder.

“(I beg your pardon?),” the booming voice comes back, as he swings the door open.

“Your French sucks,” Elio says to him in a bit of challenging tone, “American, right? (un-fuckingbelievable, typical),” Elio mutters under his breath, this time in Italian, rolling his eyes.

The tall guy just stands there without words.

“Do you mind?” Elio tosses the words sourly in a full irritation, “Jeez–, (alphas, no matter where you go, no manners whatsoever).”

Elio realizes that he is unusually irritable. Way too edgy for being just stranded by Franco. It’s not like that he carries a certain meaning in Elio’s life. Fucking, asshole.

“Just because my French sounds off to you, that doesn’t mean I don’t get your Italian,” says the tall guy.

At that, Elio pauses.

He heard him right. Fluent and spotless. An American speaking his own language. In Paris, in this stupid bar bathroom, of all places.

That’s when Elio’s mind settles a little, feeling like he is being pulling down from a hot air balloon. And he begins to notice the feature of this American. He is blond, wearing a button down pastel blue shirt, starch-pressed khakis. Must be a casual evening out. Maybe a date? Elio briefly debates whether to back down a little but something coils deep in his gut. And all he feels is to just lash out at this stranger. A dashing, handsome one.

“(you alphas always think that the world spins around you, don’t you? you assholes),” as soon as he utters it, Elio quickly regrets it.

Because his nose is hit with something very woody, exceedingly heady for him – other than the usual smell of vomit, alcohol, and ammonia of this grimy bathroom. Elio blinks. He couldn’t believe how this stranger’s scent is making him feel. A weird mixture of excitement (the happy one) and an odd serenity. Elio wants more of it. His instinct tells him that he needs to run to this guy and bury his nose on the crook of his neck. It’s an overwhelming urge Elio has never felt in his entire life.

But Elio quickly catches the tall guy’s face expression. His piercing blue eyes are studying him. In a strange and very un-European way, not quite a poker face but there is a subtle contempt between his eyebrows.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” the guy answers quietly.

Huh?

It takes Elio a second to digest what he just heard. Oh, the guy just answered his only question. So he is that type. Elio thinks to himself. Well, sorry you mind, dude.

“It’s a bar bathroom. Unless you own this place, I’d like to take a piss,” Elio declares with a glare.

He is indeed tall. Combed and mussed over blond hair. Two piercing sapphire blue eyes. Two top buttons neatly undone. Is that a Star of David I see? Elio makes another face. This time, his lips are parted lightly, with a look of ‘er, hello?’

“I must admit I should have knocked. But, you yourself also forgot to latch the lock after yourself.”

He is not going to let this go, is he? Elio thinks. How is he that calm? All I have been is flat-out rude. And… oh––, his voice.

But Elio catches himself with a peculiar boldness.

“I am not about to have a lengthy discussion on how to use this fucking bathroom with some stranger. Let alone, an entitled alpha.”

The tall guy huffs in disbelief, “entitled?”

“Alright,” Elio rolls his eyes, sighing with annoyance still lingering, “enjoy the free show, you freak,” and unzips his pants.

As Elio predicted, the tall guy turns around quickly and steps out the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Elio hums. Take that, you stupid alpha, Elio thinks to himself proudly, as he aims to the far right corner of piled ice at the bottom, to relieve himself. He doesn’t understand why he pointed his anger towards this person. That guy didn’t do anything wrong and he did, in a roundabout way, admit his fault. Did I want to hear an alpha to say the word ‘sorry’? Elio had only one full glass of cocktail. Far away from being buzzed by the alcohol in his system.

Yet Elio cannot help but feeling curiously pleased about not giving a shit to anyone. Especially some nobody alpha, he would never meet again.

After zipping up his pants, Elio presses the lever, taking a small step aside. And the flushing sound comes to him as an added refreshment of his small personal victory. Pathetic, I know. But I’m in the mood, who cares?

When Elio opens the door, wiping his freshly washed hands with extra layers of paper towels, his head bumps into a soft wall.

“Oof, pardon me,” says Elio.

“Now you are polite.”

When Elio looks up, he realizes that his face is buried in that tall alpha’s broad yet lean and firm muscular chest. The heavy musk of the same mellow scent of this alpha hits his nose, hard. Up this close, Elio can tell the distinct mixture of juniper (or it could be spruce), moss, and white pepper–with the top note of watermelon. Oh, god–––. That’s when it hits him. He is in his heat. At least the beginning of it.

Elio feels his cheeks flush, his heart starting to race.

_He smells so good._

_Fuck, I need to get outta here._

“What do they call you?” the tall guy’s baritone rumble hits Elio right in the middle of his heart. Anything. You can call me anything, is Elio’s immediate thought. duh fuck, Elio? You are walking disaster, get your ass back home, ASAP!! Elio shakes his head as clandestinely as possible and snaps out of the heady daze.

“None of your business,” replies Elio, looking up at the tall alpha with his eyebrows raised, motioning himself to get out of dodge.

“Are you here by yourself?” he asks quietly, his tone very protective and rather apprehensive.

Why does he sound like he is afraid for me?

“Why do you care?” Elio chucks those words like an insult, “Will you please step aside?”

I really need to go home. I don’t want to become one of those heat-sodden helpless omega in front of you.

“This place is not safe for you,” the tall alpha says with genuine concern.

“What are you? my mom?”

“Look, I know I have no business but–.”

Elio cuts him off, shoving his shoulder, “God damn right, you don’t. I don’t intend to fuck you or suck your dick tonight, if that’s what you are getting at. Regardless of what game you are trying to play here,” and brusquely push-passes the guy down and out the hall.

On his way out of the bar, after weaving between the occupied tables, Elio catches the look on that tall alpha face. Something about him is different. He does look sincerely troubled for Elio’s safety. But they are complete strangers. And he was downright rude to him. Did he know I am an omega?

Elio shakes his head to oust the dumb question out of his head. Then, it hits him. On his shoulder, the damn t-shirt has a lingering scent of him. Elio shudders. What the fuck are you doing, Elio? He chides himself as he turns to the alley to cut across town.

Fuck!

Elio feels a warm dampness slowly trickling between his inner thighs. So all Elio can think is that he really seriously need to hurry home, put some Rachmaninov on, and munch on something smothered in cheese or chocolate.

.

That’s the last thing Elio remembers of that evening. Elio stirs with his eyes closed on the hospital bed. The soft, warm, and calm voice guides him out.

“When I snap my fingers, you are breathing normally, calm and relaxed. You will not remember any negative feelings. You are safe. You are well. On the count of three: one, two, three–”

Elio’s eyes open but he feels groggy. His eyes feeling sticky, the skin on his hands taut.

The cognitive interviewer from the local law enforcement assures Elio that everything is okay. On his right, Elio catches Marzia’s back casting a shadow, standing outside. Through the metal shutter layered window of the suit, Elio can make out she is talking to someone.

“Well, thanks to Mister Oliver, you arrived at the emergency room safely,” the expertly measured calm voice informs him.

_Who is Mister Oliver?_

At Elio’s look, the police officer fills him in. Apparently, this ‘Mister Oliver’ is a Good Samaritan who found him and brought him to the hospital.

Right. Uh…

“Is he… is he still here?” Elio asks cautiously.

“Yes, he gave us a valuable by-stander information,” offers the female profiler. After studying Elio’s face, she asks carefully, “would you like to meet him?”

Elio pauses. And the officer softly adds, assuring Elio, that it is okay for him to take his time as she has all the necessary information, should Elio feels ready in the future.

“Uhmm… uh…”

Noticing Elio's hesitation and discomfort the interviewer goes, “maybe a bit later, then, hmm?” with a warm smile. 

Elio nods quietly with an agreement.

*

**Oliver's**

Oliver didn’t plan on coming to this side of the town. His beloved vintage Vespa died, during his usual evening jaunt around the city, yesterday. And this street is the closest place that handles Vespa without factory warranty. After dropping it off, he somehow deviated from the street that leads him to the metro. Very odd and unusual.

But Oliver ducks his head a little and steps inside the bar. The place is a typical college bar where his students would go. A lot like the one back home, Oliver thinks to himself. He walks up to the far end of the bar and orders a dark pint from the tap. It has been a while he drank beer, let alone stout. Oliver takes three large gulps in a row and gets refreshingly surprised at how good it tastes, going down his throat.

“Must have been thirsty, eh?” the bartender says to him.

Oliver just hums and tips his head a little and the tattooed female alpha goes, “coming right up.”

He and the bartender talk and Oliver unexpectedly discovers that she is from the States, too. The third one goes down as smoothly as the first one.

“Want another?”

“No,” Oliver waves his hand over the empty glass, “better head home.”

“It was nice meeting you, Oliver.”

“Likewise,” replies Oliver with a light dip of his head, “oh! Do you happened to have a facility?”

She tosses her thumb over her shoulder and says, “right around the back.”

.

Once he is near the bathroom, Oliver thinks he is imagining it. Because his nose detects the scent. Very subtle only Oliver could smell. The same scent that his nose smelled only once in his life. Licorice, caramel and dark cherry. He chuckles at himself thinking how light weight he became and turns the knob. Nope, Oliver isn’t mistaken or even come close to tipsy. Inside that small not-well-tended bathroom, there he is.

It _is_ him.

.

The lanky guy, who threw himself at the crosswalk after the light turned green, has a brazen mouth. Does he know he is in heat or burgeoning into one?

Yet Oliver cannot bring himself to tell him that. Because this nameless magnificent omega must have been living his life, jumping through all those gender typical discrimination and stigmas this wonderful mother-fucking society offers. Oliver feels that it is not his place. After all, they are complete strangers.

_Why is his blatant rudeness turns me on?_

Having never been a fan of discourtesy regardless of whom he meet, it is downright strange phenomenon for Oliver. At the same time, the blond cannot help but to feel protective of him, towards this magnificent thing. As if he has known this tart-mouthed omega all his life. Maybe Oliver missed a signal or he is too much in his own thought, the dark curl goes,

“Alright, enjoy the free show, you freak,” and unzips his pants.

Oliver is sure that his eyes are widened involuntarily, though he cannot see himself, so he quickly turns around and steps outside the less-than-acceptable bathroom. Unbeknownst to him, Oliver comes to realize his body is already in the sentry mode. I hate the biology sometime, Oliver thinks to himself but he feels content, strangely joyful. The need to relieve himself long gone, Oliver stands in front of the bathroom as if he is waiting for his partner.

.

It is refreshing to see this lanky guy is actually well-mannered. His gorgeous curls sway when he unexpectedly bumps into his chest, emitting more of his intoxicatingly sweet scent. Oliver boldly asks for his name, though in his head he scolds on his less-than-suave tactlessness.

“…I don’t intend to fuck you or suck your dick tonight, if that’s what you are getting at. Regardless of what game you are trying to play here,” the bright hazel eyes’ cutting words land on the alpha's core deep and dive straight down into his groin.

Yes, I want your mouth open and your eyes pinned out, calling my name, begging me to sate you, is what Oliver wants to say. dud fuck, Oliver! And just as quickly, the alpha chides his own thought. The lanky guy tosses another sharp look before he shoulder-push-passes Oliver.

.

Oliver wants to follow him but he knows he must draw the line. Though his barely-there scent tells him that he is unmated, this hazel eyes may be going to meet his alpha outside the bar. Let it go, Oliver, He tells himself.

.

When the blue eyes pulls the door open, the inside of the bathroom has lingering smell of him. Oliver does not have any bodily fluid fetishes but this…

Oliver sighs under his breath quietly and basks in the air or what’s left of that lanky guy. Sweet, way over the top licorice and thick caramel. Just like his personality, this omega has a weighty scent. Unlike the usual sweetness of others he smelled: mostly flamboyant that never has substance. It’s beyond intoxicating. The top note of dark cherry. Playfulness, full of lighthearted laughter. Oliver imagines the hazel eyes’ smile. Just like a cherry on top of expertly hand crafted sundae. A bit too much, don’t you think? Pun and euphemism already? Oliver tells himself. He doesn’t know why or from where but, Oliver is pretty certain of how delightful the dark curl’s real personality is.

Then, his rational brain goes, it’s some masking agent he is using. Though a subtly more distinct than majority of betas Oliver’s nose have sensed, the hazel eyes’ scent was really thin. Too fair to be detected by the general population of usual of his kind. The alphas.

After relieving himself, Oliver steps out the bathroom. Too reluctantly. Oliver rubs at the back of his neck and presses forward to find the metro. Just as he steps outside of the bar, then, he hears alcohol inebriated vulgar howl of alphas, followed by sex-laced menacing cackle.

_Something is wrong._

Then, Oliver hears _his_ voice.

\ Please... please someone... Please... \

With inexplicable dread heavy in his stomach, Oliver pushes his shoulder to where the sound originated from and speeds up his steps, instead of walking toward the other direction. As he hurriedly turns the corner, his suspicion proves to be true. There are five guys having their way with a person.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Oliver bellows across the ally.

When one of the offenders side-stepped to see who just yelled at them, Oliver heart drops.

No!!!

No, no, no, it’s _him_.

Oliver doesn’t remember exactly what he yelled in French. His heart pounding hard, the blond quickly runs back down to the corner and calls for assistance. Two bouncers in front of the club, on the other side of the street, run towards him and join Oliver as he leads them to the back alley.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!”

Two bouncers radio between them and soon, three others appear from the opposite end of the ally. This street must have some kind of neighbourhood-watch for their businesses. Oliver hears a distinct call of one of bouncers, dispatching for police via his two-way.

.

Two offenders manage to rabbit off but the rest three, including the one that was all over his omega are caught by five bouncers. The hazel eyes is curled up in the cold, dank, dirty concrete floor, lifeless. Oliver quickly takes hold of the front of his button down shirt and pulls it open without hesitation. Shirt buttons popping in swift sequence, Oliver shrugs off from his body and wraps it over his small body straightaway.

“Everything’s gonna be okay now,” Oliver says, his eyebrows furrowing deep. And he knows he is saying it to himself more than to the dark curls.

One of the bouncers who bravely helped Oliver comes back and takes in the aftermath of what those thugs did. The burly big guy, an epitome of testosterone, chokes before he tells Oliver the police is on their way.

“No, we can’t wait, I need to get him to a hospital!”

The guy in a black shirt tells him that’s not how police does things. Oliver scowls hard and clicks his tongue sharply before he reaches down and scoops the limp body into his embrace.

“Fine, fine,” the bouncer says, taking a backward step, radioing into his two-way for a car to be driven up front. Even between alphas, no one would dare to challenge the one in their full protective mode. It sure wasn’t Oliver’s intention to display any untoward dominance to him. He makes a mental note to clear the air later, once they get him to a hospital.

.

Oliver runs in with Elio in his arms. That’s what the name said on his ID. This place is the closest emergency room, the driver said. The nurse at the front desk asks him to fill out the form as Oliver tries to lay Elio in one of the gurney. The bouncer fishes out Elio’s wallet from his ripped jeans to get the ID out. And the nurse–who looks like she has been working here far too long, seen everything and anything that could have happened in this facility–dispassionately takes the Elio’s ID card.

“Are you his alpha?” her tone flat and jaded.

“No.”

“Where is his alpha?” the nurse asks, typing Elio’s information in her computer.

“I don’t know. Like I said, he needs help.”

“Are you his court designated guardian?”

“No!”

“I’m sorry, Mister––.”

“Never mind how you should address me.”

Though his voice is calm, Oliver never fails to notice his own canine protruding, the dangerous anger coiling deep inside his gut. She doesn’t even bat her eyelashes at the urgency of Oliver’s voice. With a little beep, the nurse sighs in a ‘well, what do you know?’ tone. As if she knows everything, as if nothing bothers her.

“His insurance doesn’t cover our services,” she states plainly.

Oliver cannot believe his ears. He readjusts Elio in his arms as carefully but as swiftly as he can. The hair on the back of his hands stand up. The bouncer who is standing next to him catches Oliver's hackles being raised. Oliver senses wordless request of camaraderie from him to calm the fuck down via the changes in his breathing. Then, the black-shirt steps in close as if he understood exactly what Oliver is trying to do. And Oliver leans his torso slightly away, not letting Elio out of his embrace and says, “my wallet, thank you!”

The black shirted bouncer pulls out Oliver’s wallet and opens it up, looking up at Oliver. Once the finger of the bouncer reaches the slot exactly where Oliver wants to take out, the blond gives him a nod. As the aluminum square is freed from the leather slot, the muscle’s eyes widen. At the unwanted delay, Oliver growls low, his eyes flickering dark in warning.

“Oh, right!,” says the bouncer snapping out of his surprise and places it on the counter.

It’s a black card. Two thin lines of platinum running at the bottom. It doesn’t have Oliver’s name. No card number. No contact number. But everyone knows what it is. It is only given to top 1% in this world. Elite of the elite.

The system is built in a way once the card is inserted to the point of service (POS) module, it alerts the credit card provider for VIP of the VIP. The nurse sees it and she gasps as her whole demeanor immediately changes.

“Start treating him and I want to speak to the one in charge,” says Oliver through the gritted teeth.

And the blond's throat waves hard as he cringes his nose murderously, suppressing the impulse to just reach across the front desk and to take hold of her snobby neck then ripping her throat out. It's something Oliver never knew he could feel. He fills his lungs remembering the times back when he was in the training room learning how to keep his composure. Oliver sets his jaw as it is taking longer to calm himself. At the corner of Oliver’s eyes, he sees the bouncer’s shoulders waving quietly with laughter at how frenetic the rude nurse and the folks around are acting.

.

As soon as Oliver has the ER doctor triage Elio, he calls Elena who phoned her contact in Paris. She assures Oliver that the traces will be covered. Oliver thanks her sincerely, before he ends the call. He first dismisses the shift manager and clarifies with his trade mark low rumble, “I asked for the one in charge.”

In less 15 minutes once that nurse slotted Oliver’s black card into POS, an unmarked state-of-the-art private ambulance arrives at the front of the ER. The hospital manager soon rushed in with sleep still in his eyes (and less-than-appropriate attire he put on in a hurry) begs and begs Oliver to reconsider. The pompous man grovels as if he is going to lick Oliver’s shoes clean with his tongue. Oliver gets more disgusted by it so he decides not to even have a civil conversation and simply gives him a single sentence. Oliver hears the bouncer saying in something lines with ‘oh, you are fucked!’ with bountiful glee on his face.

As requested, a female omega doctor accompanies Elio all the way to the private hospital. There is no fuss on making sure of the procedures, legality, and insurance. Although Oliver hates the idea of using his influences that he was born into, he thanks his stars of the fact that it came so useful for the situation like this.

In retrospect, Oliver could have just invoked the Gold Standard of ‘the Responsibility to Protect’ Initiative Act (GSRPIA) at the hospital they just left. Oliver sure hell could argue hours on end citing correct legal codes to them. But the situation was direly time sensitive. An emergency medical technician (EMT) in the vehicle explains to Oliver the usual. That the investigative procedure will happen, who or with whom he will be speaking to, adding there is no need to worry about the change of hands. Because once their outfit was alerted, they have sent the necessary instructions to the previous ER. The beta male EMT then shows him what was handed to him as they were loading Elio into this ambulance.

Oliver thanks him. Then, he finally manages to breathe out. His heart is still a half of a beat too fast. The beta EMT types in the information on the touchscreen unit, skillfully. Elio on the gurney, oxygen tube in his nose, stirs with a low painful moan. Oliver looks at him and hesitates. Then, he dares to place his palm over his messy curls, ever so gently, as if he is not allowed to touch him. Once his skin lands on Elio’s hair, Oliver’s Adam’s apple makes a hard wave. EMT side-glances at this piece of frozen moment and tries his best not to get himself choked up. The tech concludes Elio must be very important to Oliver. Oliver’s long golden lashes flutter soundlessly. He quietly fills his lungs and sets his jaws slowly.

Everything is going to be okay.

Yet he is not sure whether he is telling Elio or himself. Because somehow Oliver is overwhelmed with depthless fear.

A fear of losing him.

.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Simultaneously, Shadowy area near the back alley way of Paris, France ]

There are two guys standing at the far end of the corner. One is wearing heather grey fedora hat, the other a black trilby with thin vertical strips.

“Things like this is never easy to watch,” the trilby mentions.

The grey fedora hat sighs glumly through his nose, squaring his jaws. And Elio’s cry for help echoes. Two men stay rooted there with distinct discomfort. “For crying out loud–,” the trilby gripes, wincing, and drops his chin to turn his face away from the horrific scene.

The grey fedora hat clenches his fist under the back of his notebook. Suddenly, an alert message pops up on the opened page.

“Wait, What??” the other guy clutches his own notebook in shock.

The corner of the grey hat’s sternly closed lips quirks up minutely.

Two men can hear Oliver’s projected booming voice.

“This cannot be happening? How??” the black trilby says urgently, clearly flustered.

As soon as the second guy tries to find a way to stop Oliver, the grey fedora extends his arm and stops the other guy, placing his laxly straightened arm across the middle of his torso front. Then, he turns his head to the trilby and remarks low, yet with resolve;

“You know we can never meddle.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –The Cognitive Interview here is a generalized demonstration. Depending on the agencies, each procedures and techniques vary.  
> –Personally, the concept of ‘a dashing knight in shining armor’ fairy tale element gives me heebie-jeebies. hehe   
> –The black card variation and GSRPIA are gobbledygook I made up for this verse.   
> –Fedora and Trilby are similar but clearly different in design and shape. One is preferred by Jazz musician nowadays. In the end, it’s an individual fashion choice. *soft smile*  
> .  
> As always, Thank you for reading, your time and interest.  
> Do kindly please stay healthy and safe: mind, body, and soul. *prayer hands*  
> 


	6. A Long Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of Elio's recovery and the Perlman's 17th summer house guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**  
>  This chapter marks **the beginning of the angst** (of which I actively avoided and vehemently protested the entire duration of my short AO3 pseudo-writership life span. *sigh*)  
> In other words, sloth level slow burn  
>  As usual, I take every and all responsibilities and ramifications, but I beg thee please kindly don’t shoot the messenger.  
> .  
> things between '._._._.': reverie  
> 

**Chapter Five. A Long Road**

**At the Beginning of Summer | Crema, Italy**

Elio has already adjusted relatively well on walking around the villa, with his plaster cast on his leg. The cast still feels quite heavy and the skin trapped under it is incredibly itchy. Surprisingly, his body intuitively remembers all the bumps and inclines of this magnificent place. Of course, damn sure his body should. Because Elio has lived here all his life, ever since he was two. So, except for him feeling like a waddling fool, Elio gets around this quaint slice of paradise fairly well.

Today, Elio wanted to stay in bed.

But he got himself out of the bed as he needs to be a good host. Samuel’s new summer intern is coming today and Elio is all too familiar with what he has to do. He had done this every summer since he was two years old.

._._._.  
Aside from his physical recoveries, Elio made great progress with some clinical psychiatric modalities, while he was at the hospital. Though Elio having the complete short-term memory loss on and of the event took place at the back alley is the saving grace, his PTSD symptoms indeed bled through. He had severe nightmares every night that made him grew terrified of going to sleep.

Thankfully, he doesn’t remember his dreams, just like the memory of that incident. Miraculously erased. The presentation of unknown physical pain made him restless. To Samuel and Annella’s surprise, the hospital didn’t shy away from offering Elio many different treatment options, other than the industry typical healthcare procedure.

Two weeks went by and the bandages came off, ugly bruises faded, swellings gone, Elio began to hold down some soft food. The doctors then gradually tapered him off from sleeping aids and benzodiazepines. One day on his third week, Elio volunteered to take a little walk. The nursing staff was by his side, as Elio became used to walking on casted leg. Marzia remembered to visit him every chance she got. Three days before Elio’s release from the hospital, she found Elio walking up and down the hallway in his pastel green hospital gown. All by himself. Marzia was so happy she almost cried. She immediately ran to him and hugged in tight.

“You’re gonna ruin my cannoli,” Elio soothed her with a soft smile.

.

 **Mid-May | A Month after Elio** **’** **s release from hospital stay | Crema, Italy**

It was middle of May and a month into his stay at Crema, Samuel and Annella asked Elio to sit down with them.

“Of course, papa, You can’t just change all your schedule just because of me.”

Samuel had already took the family leave as soon as Elio was released from the hospital, at the end of April. Annella transferred most of her work to home, saying ‘no’ to many potential clients. So, Elio was keenly aware of their sacrifices for their adult son.

“Are you sure, tesoro?”

Elio nodded several times.

“Yes, I’ve had summer guest since I was two. I would be more upset if you had just canceled this too without even asking me. So, yes, papa, I am sure.”

Annella ran her palm on the back of Elio’s hunched form. Two exchanged, in mixture of German and French. Then, a thought occurred to Elio.

“Who is it?”

Their now almost 17 years of tradition was usually went like this. During winter months, three Perlmans would sit down by the fire and go through piles of candidates. Then, during the spring term, Samuel would pick the one of the finalists who were decided by the family, back in that winter. And the past two years, Elio hasn’t been a part of the spring process of their ritual. Therefore, naturally, since he is going to stay here in Crema this summer as he did before he graduated high school, Elio was curious who would be coming.

.

Both Annella and Samuel caught the fleeting surprise of recognition on Elio’s face.

“He is in city college,” Elio stated, trying to continue inspecting through the two-hole punched files of his dear father's decision, “I know you always have a good reason but… isn’t he uh…a bit–”

“Coming from a what we academics call non-prestigious institution does not mean he should not get a chance to be exposed to the work of my field. If you are interested, you can read his mission statement and cover letter, tesoro.”

“No, no, papa, I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to judge.”

They exchanged more words about the plans and what Samuel has instored for this summer's guest. Elio rubbed at his eyes and Annella warmly recommended him to go get some rest. He couldn’t tell his dear mother why he was being this reactive. Because in the hazel eyes' mind, he was already recalling how good this alpha smelled. He was surprised at himself on how much he could recall Oliver’s scent. It was simply too overwhelming. Heady and scintillating. So, Elio pliantly acquiesced to his mother’s request. On his way up to his room, Mafalda fussed and gasped at Elio’s state and scolded Anchise for not helping him quickly.

“(I’m fine, Mafalda),” Elio offered him, raising his open palm up to ask Anchise to stop from babying him.  
._._._.

Taking a shower is still a hassle. Wrapping the cast into a hospital issued 'full leg water resistant sleeve' takes longer than the shower itself sometimes. Elio towel-dries his hair, shaking it like he is a large feline shaking his mane, coming out from swimming in the river. He feels a light spin and a lurch of whoosh inside his head. I overdid it today. Elio closes his left eye, into a lopsided squint, smiling a little by himself.

Coming down the stairs, thankfully, is not that difficult any more. He hears his dear old father’s jolly laughter distantly resounding from his study. Elio thinks he must be so happy with this guest. At the bottom of the steps, he pauses and fills his lungs rather determinately. Elio sees the back of his mother lush curls first as she steps out of the library.

“Oh, mon amore,” Annella begins, her face immediately uplifts into a brighter smile as soon as she sees her son up-and-about, and tenderly reaches her arm out, an artist/dancer's hand, her open softly edge curled palm, “come meet our new guest.”

When Elio and Annella join in, they catch the end of Samuel’s yearly humor repertoire.

“…every single one of these will,” his father ends the conversation with his wonderful booming laughter.

Brace yourself, Elio, the hazel eyes steels himself, taking hold of the blue eyed mountain-of-a-man standing up from the lounger, as he walks further into the room.

"Elio, Oliver, Oliver, Elio," Samuel introduces them, in his spritely sing-songy voice.

"How you doing?" the blue eyes offers his strong arm forward, as he's getting up.

pastel blue button down shirt with rolled up sleeves,  
two top buttons neatly undone,  
over a long khaki slacks,  
his blond hair mussed over.

Elio is aware he is talking to him, offering some nice geatures. Probably something about his belongings, or or the usual chit-chat like, 'how was your trip?', 'how was the traffic?', 'any trouble finding this place?' But his voice seems distant as if he is hearing someone else. Kinda like a out of body experience but not really. 

Elio rubs at the back of his neck. 

A tiny golden glint from his open shirt catches Elio's eyes, again. 

.

**On the Second Floor | Elio’s Old Room | The Perlman’s Villa | Crema, Italy**

“It used to be your room?” Oliver asks in measured tone.

“Yeah, I’m staying across the hall,” Elio then quickly points to the mini-split unit up on the corner of the room, Oliver’s head turns, following where Elio is pointing, “the air conditioner is only a couple of years old. The weather has gotten hotter than ever before so.. .”

Oliver just nods with a soft smile. Although the blond appears calm and collected, his head is filled with an elation about this unbelievable reality. That he is standing next to Elio. In his room. He keeps his cool, his face mutual, as Oliver and the Perlman’s have agreed.

Elio’s eyes dart a little, his gaze trailing off to his left before he says,

“Uhmm… if there is something you’d want to… get it out of your way, you uh… you can use the other room,” and rather quickly Elio moves to the inside of the connecting bathroom. With his left hand on the doorframe, his head peeking out to make sure Oliver is looking where Elio wants him to know, “towels are here,” then, Elio swiftly turns around in the middle of the bathroom, “Mafalda likes the laundries in this hamper.”

Oliver nods his head gently to show his acknowledgement. He can see Elio is going through the list he made in his head. He looks so adorable, Oliver thinks to himself.

“Oh, and uh…she, Mafalda, still uses the bell to let us know when the meal is ready.”

Oliver smiles. Elio can tell Oliver is imagining being call for a meal at the sound of antique bell chime. Seeing him like this is incredible, Elio thinks to himself.

'This place is… unbelievable. And even just this long, it feels like I am transported through time,' Oliver mulls the thought to himself.

“Do you… uh… have any allergies?” Elio asks.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Oliver catches Elio’s cheeks blushing lightly. Right at the moment when Elio thinks Oliver’s voice is so good in his ears. No, Oliver doesn’t need to know that. But Elio quickly catches Oliver looking at him and the dark curls blinks his eyes, readjusting his stands. The casted leg must be bothering him, Oliver thinks to himself, as Elio somewhat swiftly fusses over the opened notepad on one of his shelves.

“Hey… hey… Elio,” Oliver reaches his arm out and gently touches his fingers on Elio’s elbow. Elio’s head turns a beat too quickly as if Oliver’s touch has startled him.

Wide eyed Elio looks up at Oliver with his mouth parted a little. To Oliver’s eyes, he is absolutely gorgeous.

With his face still, Oliver says warmly, “I’m good,” nodding his head lightly, “okay?”

“… yeah,” Elio smiles awkwardly, with a little nod, mirroring Oliver, “yeah, man, uhm…I’ll…uh… I’ll leave you to uh…,” continues as he runs his right palm on his left upper arm awkwardly, (Oliver gathers that it is one of Elio's unconscious self-soothing responses,) taking a hastened breath, “to settle in.”

Oliver nods quietly again with a soft smile.

“…I…” Elio chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, “okay, thanks.”

And the gorgeous hazel eyes turn and Oliver is hit with the scent he so dearly missed for the past three months. The afternoon sun shining in through the open window reflects on Elio’s magnificent curls. Oliver’s heart starts to thump loudly. The blond fills his lungs, basking in all these wonderful moments.

“Grazie, Elio,” Oliver says to him, at the back of the glinting chocolate brown messy curls.

Elio glances back over his shoulder with a quiet ‘mhm’ before he leaves the room.

.

The next day, in the sitting room, Elio has been glued to Bösendorfer even before the breakfast is over. Oliver misses the breakfast. But Mafalda is kind enough to fix him a light breakfast plate.

All the windows are open, the morning breeze is continuously rushing in, carrying the typical Italian summer aroma. Elio’s broken last two fingers in metal brace make his bass notes harsh. So Elio goes through the cadenza over and over again, his shoulders hunched forward a little, head dropped a bit towards the keys, his eyebrows straining a little at the dissatisfaction of how the keys sound, trying to find a sense of his temporary but new left hand.

“That sounds really beautiful,” the low baritone comes from Elio’s five o’clock.

The rolling chair chaotically tips over and clatter against the floor. Elio’s left hand clutches some of the lower keys, making jumble of out of sync frenzied sounds. Elio just got up so abruptly at the unexpected voice. His eyes wide, his chest bellowing fast and shallow. The usual Elio would have been able to pick up any alpha’s scent without even trying but because of the miraculous mixture of circumstances—the direction of the wind, him exceptionally being edgy about his fingers not working the way he wants to, not being remotely conscious about the fact that since yesterday, they have a guest.

Elio feels his heart pounding as if it’s going to burst out his chest. That’s when Oliver’s scent hits Elio’s nose. _Ugft, his scent_. It is just as good as the very first time the hazel eyes sensed him: in the filthy bathroom at the bar. And Elio suddenly gets defensive towards himself. His body atomically twitches, shrugging inward.

Oliver is also just as surprised at Elio’s reaction. The blond extends his hands in front of his torso at the level of his belly button, his eyebrows raised in deep concern. As he shows the textbook, ‘I mean you no harm’ gesture, Oliver gently begins, 

“I… I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry,” offers Oliver, catching the morning summer breeze blowing through Elio’s body, carrying his scent.

It’s sour.

The fear. It’s not just simple surprise on his unexpected presence. The dark curls' usual over the top sweet delicious scent is mercilessly maimed with pungent discomfort. Oliver’s jaws bulge a little as he sets them square, at the coiling anger in his gut. But the alpha stills himself.

“It’s uh…,” Elio’s shoulders rise into a shrug, shifting his weight to his other leg to get the weight off his casted one, “I just didn’t expect someone to be there,” and he rakes his hand from his forehead and all the way to the back of his neck. Oliver does not miss this self-soothing gesture of his, either.

'I can’t tell him that something happened to me the evening I was so fucking rude to him in that bar,' Elio thinks to himself.

“Did you sleep okay?” Elio forces a smile, trying to reach for the tipped-over stool, bending down at his waist.

Oliver strides over effortlessly (and too swiftly) and grabs the chair for him, instead.

“You don’t need to do that. You are a guest,” states Elio quietly.

“It’s fine. I should have cleared my throat or have done something to announce myself.”

Elio grimaces but his left cheek tips up with a half-smile. But it disappears as quickly as it appears.

“Has anyone told you, you are too quiet for your size?” asks the dark curls, trying to change the subject.

“What~? Am I supposed to thump around and knock things over wherever I go?” Oliver tosses the question, making different funny faces as he enacts a mindless giant walking and mimes an overexaggeratedly flailing arms with sound effects, lightheartedly and flirtatiously. A classic bull in a china shop. 

It makes Elio chuckle out a little. Oliver’s face softens at seeing changes in Elio’s state.

“So, what were you playing?” Oliver fondly asks.

“It’s uh… it’s by John Vallier, He was uh… a pianist but also composed a couple of unique works of his own.”

“Very passionate. What is the name of the piece?”

Elio pauses and blinks a couple of times, looking up at Oliver. He didn’t think Oliver would know the correct term.

“Are you classics fan?” Elio asks looking up at him.

“I dabbled into listening to some but…,” Oliver trails off as if he is trying to hold himself back from saying something to Elio. 

“You know you don’t have to be modest. I’m just a professor son. You don’t need to impress me or anything.”

 _I want to_ , Oliver wants to say but he already has gotten used to keeping his true thoughts to himself. Instead, the blue eyes says:

“Could you please play it again?”

.

On Oliver’s first Saturday, way into the wee hours of summer's dark silence, he gets woken up with a loud painful scream in the middle of the night. He knows to whom that shrill belongs and why he is hearing it at this late hour in the night. Without hesitation, Oliver quickly tosses his sheets over and gets up out of his bed, then swings open the bedroom door, with more force than his intention. As if he has done this countless times, Oliver’s body moves instinctually to Elio’s room across the hall. When he is about to reach for the knob, Oliver suddenly stops. An abrupt halt as his rationality clicks in.

At that very moment, Annella runs up—her hand holding the bunched up fabric on the side of her flowy linen night gown. She sees Oliver standing in front of Elio’s door. Annella slows her steps and subdues her sighs. When she reaches Elio’s door, her warm palm lands gently on Oliver’s upper arm. Oliver turns to face her: his eyes quivering with helplessness as if he too is in pain. With the knowing look, Annella’s expression changes to a mixture of concern and appreciation for Oliver. The blond screws his eyes shut, his throat making a hard wave. Annella gives a tender squeeze on his upper arm. Wordlessly assuring him. Oliver quickly holds his breath and his left hand cups over her hand on his arm.

Oliver looks back at her. Annella gives him a quiet nod. His lips part, taking a little gasp, before he soundlessly says, ‘okay.’ Then, he steps aside. After a light and brief ‘tap, tap’ on his shoulder, with her slender warm fingers, Annella makes her way into Elio’s room, closing the door in front of Oliver.

Oliver subdues his sigh, his forehead quietly landing on against the door.

.

Next weekend, Anchise presents that he had somehow fashioned one of Elio’s electric bike into scooter mode, so Elio can ride it without paddling. Elio thanks Anchise profusely for his thought gesture and effort. The old man just gruffly says, “alright, alright, off you go.” But the dark curls knows what he means.

When he motions to ride forward, Elio hears,

“Can I join you?”

The hazel eyes turns his head a tad too fast, he almost loses his balance.

“Whoa–, careful, there,” says Oliver, his palm stopping Elio from falling.

Elio regains his balance and finally looks up at Oliver with a slightly wide eye. And he wonders, how…?

“Are you going downtown?” Oliver is standing there, just beaming at him.

“…yeah,” Elio answers, readjusting his grip on the bike.

Oh, god... Elio thinks to himself, feeling himself getting moist between his cheeks down south. What that hell is wrong with me?

“Good, I need to go see Signora Milani, this afternoon. Can I join you?”

Elio nods twice, blinking three times, “yeah, uh…, sure.”

Get a grip, the dark curls tells himself.

“Great, give me a minute, let me get the bike,” and Oliver walks away.

.

On Wednesday evening, the villa is quiet. There is only Elio at home. Samuel and Oliver have left the villa early in the morning, to visit the new archaeological excavation site.

For Elio, it is one of his worse days. He sleeps all day. Doctor from B. already came and went. The female omega doctor gave him some sedative shot and muscle relaxant so he could sleep. The plates and bowls of food Mafalda left in front of his door for each meal time sit on against the wall on the foldable table. But none of them has been touched.

Elio is on his bed, without a stir, sleeping all day. The sun is about to set over the horizon, coloring the scenery of this beautiful villa and its surrounding with shades of auburn orange and golden yellow.

Mafalda walks up the staircase, carrying a bowl and sees the light lunch on the tray as she left it. She takes in a breath and leans close to the closed door.

“Elio, (you must eat something),” she chides against the door.

There is no answer.

“(I’m leaving your favorite yogurt here before I leave for today),” Mafalda adds, hoping for him to say something, “(young man, if you can hear me––),” placing her hand over the door knob.

And she hears a faint, ‘grazie,’ through the wooden door. Mafalda fills her lungs slowly and sighs.

.

The dusk settles and the evening blankets the villa splendidly. A tattered economy class passenger vehicle plutters and pulls into the driveway. Oliver gets out of Samuel’s car. Samuel’s side window rolls down with low buzz, Oliver goes to him.

“Are you sure, Oliver? Today calls for a celebration. It was a marvelous day!!”

Oliver leans down a little to show his respect, “no, no, Pro. I had too much last night and I think I should be good tonight.”

They bid good night and Samuel’s car rolls out of the view. The sound of rolling gravel fades away as Oliver walks into the villa.

When he is about to open his door, Oliver hears a faint sobbing sound. He pauses. He hears it again. For an unknown reason, Oliver’s heart starts to race and he turns on his heels and goes to Elio’s room. It's just instinctual for him. As he reaches his hand to knock on the door, Oliver hears metal clattering chaotically on the tile floor. He swings open the door and rushes in.

Elio is on the floor, tear streaked cheeks, his curls falling all over this face. Oliver kneels down in front of him urgently. On the bathroom floor, next to shaken Elio, Oliver finds a screw driver, a sewing scissor, and a 10 inch metal file.

Oliver slowly and gently lays his palm on the dark curls' bare trembling shoulder, a bit afraid of what Elio would do. Because Oliver doesn't want to add any to Elio's distress. Yet, it doesn't take much, even though his palm is just barely on Elio's skin, for Oliver to clearly notice Elio is running a high fever.

“… I want… I want this off…,” he sobs.

“Hey… hey…,” Oliver feels helpless. He wants to soothe him. But Oliver doesn't know what to say or how to say. At the same time, he is angry at himself—everything: the circumstances, the incident, why he did not act more proactively then. Because it just might have prevented Elio from becoming the victim. Deapite the despicable anger churning in his gut, the only dominating thought in his head is to pull Elio in close and hold him. Desparately. But he's painfully aware he can't. He just cannot. I hate this, Oliver spits at his thought in his own head.

The alpha gathers himself, his jaws bulging, a deep frown on his face, Oliver quickly pushes himself up and leans over to reach into the shower. Then, he turns the knob of the shower, rather angrily, to its coldest setting. Oliver takes a sharp breath. Damn the timing! he says to himself. And without a hesitation, he folds himself down and threads his hands under Elio's arms, brings the dark curls into his embrace. To Oliver's relief, the hazel eyes doesn't resist his helping hand and slumps over on Oliver's body.

This unanticipated pliance from Elio moves Oliver deep. So the blue eyes pulls Elio's body in closer lifting him up a little and carefully leads him into the shower booth.

The alpha gingerly positions their bodies under the water. One slow side-step at a time. Introducing Elio's burning body slowly to the cold stream. The dark curls just nuzzles his cheek on Oliver's chest. And two stay there. Until Elio stops his soundless cry. Until his breaths calm to even and normal.

They do not know how long they have been standing here like this. Elio notices the alpha is shivering, quietly. The AC air from the vent is hitting directly on the back of Oliver's nape. Elio sluggishly peels his face from the damp fabric and slowly looks up at the blond. Oliver’s lips are blue. The hazel eyes frowns. And Oliver does not miss this minute change of expression.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” offers Oliver quietly, assuring Elio.

With the dark curls damp hair stringing lines of stream, Elio dumps out his chest, silently. And finally, Elio leans his forehead on Oliver’s shoulder.

 _He smells really good. So so good_ , Elio thinks to himself, feeling the sensation of his body finally beginning to relax.

Oliver blinks at the hazel eyes gesture. Him being pliant. Receptive like this. Voluntarily leaning into him. The blue eyes' throat bobs. He, then, carefully brings Elio into his embrace after getting over the surprise of Elio’s unexpected gesture. A stuttering relief of sigh escapes Oliver’s nose. Elio hesitantly nuzzles his cheek, again, this time willingly and contently, leaning into Oliver, fully.

Oliver takes in a small elated breath, pulling him closer, running his large palm on Elio’s back, slowly, soothing him. He feels Elio’s body relaxing into him. On Oliver’s back, Elio’s fingers hesitantly takes hold of the edge of cold water soaked shirt. Just the edge, where the drips of cold water pooling, before it hits the shower floor.

.

The very next day, Samuel drives Elio to the hospital in M. in the afternoon. The medical assistant tsks tartly when he finishes opening up Elio's cast. At the edge of his nostrils, Elio sees that he has the desensitizing ointment, lightly glistening. A preemptive precaution on the med-tech's part; because Elio's medical record indicates he is an omega. A flash of pointy sneer appears very quickly and disappears from Elio’s face. He wants to say he hasn't a god damn scenting gland from the cradle. No thanks to you, you asshole. An juat as quickly, Elio's thought goes, Calm the fuck down, he is just trying to be professional. But the hazel eyes cannot help but to feel uncomfortable as if he is a child being scolded by a school teacher.

“Oh, darling. Your skin…,” he trails off with deep scowl and speaks to Samuel instead.

Elio hates this. He is 19. He is not just some fragile omega who needs to be coddled. Elio wants to say, it’s just a broken leg. It’s just some laceration and water-braised skin. The dark curls sets his jaws square, making them bulge a little, while taking a subdued breath through his nose.

The exam room door cracks open quietly and the person behind the door asks the med tech to step outside; just with a gesture.

“You too, sir, please?” she speaks this time, to Samuel.

“Alright,” Samuel’s eyes darts to Elio swiftly but he tenderly gives a soft tap on Elio’s upper leg before he exits with the med-tech.

A few moments later, another medical assistant comes in with a tray and begins with taking Elio’s temperature and pulse as she introduces herself with basic pleasantry.

“Which one is your dominant hand?”

“Errr–––,” is all Elio manages.

“Oh…,” she catches Elio’s two braced fingers, “let’s go with the left one.”

“Urhm… why am I getting an IV line?”

“I don’t know…," she genuinely shrugs, "I was told to get you a bag of electrolyte going. Do you want me to go find out first before…?”

“No, no…, it’s fine,” replies Elio. There’s something about the way she comes across is very sincere. The hazel eyes thinks to himself.

She does hesitate. Elio gathers she must be new. Or it’s her first time meeting an omega. He senses some lingering reluctance.

“You skin is… wow.”

“Excuse me?” Elio cannot help but to ask. His tone mild but still feeling a bit awkward.

She blushes and steals an upward glance then just starts to blurt out fast, half stammering, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be rude but I’ve never felt an omega’s skin and, and, your skin is…, what am I saying? I’m so–– sorry. That was very inappropriate of me.”

.

Elio doesn’t recall falling asleep but for the first time in a very long time, he actually feels rested. As he runs his free palm over his face to gather his senses, Elio hears a thick hospital door open.

“oh, good,” the female omega doctor walks in with a smile, “how are you feeling?”

She explains that it was her medical opinion to have him rest while the skin on his broke leg air out. And she volunteers the information that the mild sedative he was given is non-habit forming.

“It was also a nice chance for us to get the most up-to-date bio-physical data of your overall health,” she adds, gently extending her open hand towards the state of the art equipment in the room.

“I won’t get a cast, then?” Elio asks cautiously.

She chuckles, “yes and no, we already took a 3D scan of your leg in the relaxed state. And once you feel you are stable and fully awake, we’ll take you to another room to get a scan of your leg as you are standing.”

She carries on and explains why it is important to get a separate scan of his leg in the weight bearing state; as the angles and contour of his muscles are important for his new cast.

“Is my father still here?” Elio asks softly.

“Yes, he is talking to the technicians. He is definitely a scholar, isn’t he?”

Elio chuckles. Because the hazel eyes can picture his dear old father asking questions about equipment, how the things are turning out on the screen, and commenting on how archaeology and ancient history would relate to & benefit from the subject at hand.

.

**In a Meanwhile, Same Day, Same Time, across miles away | Thursday, Mid-June, a day after the cold shower | Crema, Italy**

“That’s correct. Yes,” Oliver is on the phone, walking down the stairs in brisk strides, “as I said, all the expenses will be paid in full, regardless of the amount.”

Mafalda comes out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Uliva, (would you like something to drink)?”

Oliver’s eyes turn back towards her voice first, as he finishes his conversation, “yes, absolutely, thank you.”

“(I’m sorry, I didn’t–),” says Mafalda, realizing Oliver is on the phone and what she just heard was not an answer to her question. 

“No, Mafalda. (I was already done),” Oliver offers her a soft smile, “(you know I can get them myself too, you are too kind).”

Mafalda swoons, muttering la movie star under her breath, “(if only the rest of the alphas come as close to your sensibility and kindness, lemonade)?”

“(you just like to flatter me), Mafalda,” Oliver chuckles low with all teeth smile, “(I need to be careful not to let them get into my head).”

Mafalda tosses her hands in the mid-air as if to say, ‘oh, come off it. you are being too modest!’, and she precipitously disappears to the kitchen.

For some reason, Oliver pauses at the corner of the wall. His head tilts curiously to the right. How did I miss this? There is an oil painting of young Elio. Next to it, there is a photo-captured art piece in 9” x 12” which looks to be the original. Oliver recognizes the work instantly but cannot seem to place the name of the painter. It is a soft oil painting of a little girl sitting on a table with peaches. The title and the artist’s name are on the tip of his tongue. The blond can only scrunch his mouth to the side.

“Girl with Peaches, by Valentin Serov,” says Malfada from Oliver’s left.

“Grazie, Mafalda,” Oliver bends his knees ever so slightly, taking the tall glass from the tray.

“(One of Annella’s clients drew this when Elio was five years old. She adored him like he was her own).”

 _Indeed_. Oliver thinks to himself, filling his lungs so contently.

_I would have loved to see him grow. Reading books to him, teaching him the new words, answering his endless ‘why?’ Tickle him until the tears of joy gather at the edge of his splendid hazel eyes, his laughter filling this wonderful place._

_Yes, his natural scent would only get accentuated by the soft airy aroma of ripe peaches, pomegranates, and apricots in Annella's orchard._

Oliver, with the dewing tall glass clutched in his grip, is completely lost in his own head, picturing little Elio, playing in the pool, laughing carefree, helping Mafalda with her pickings of ripe fruits that are blushing with shame during summer, him plopping joyfully on his back against the untouched snow, making snow angels.

.

After breakfast, the next day, Elio thinks that Oliver brush-passed by him, rather close. The scent of him. Elio catches himself swooning. His body feeling like he is melting.

.

It’s Saturday and Elio is sitting under the sun with his sunglasses on. Half-dozing.

“How do you like your new cast?” Oliver asks softly.

The dark curls’ entire body jumps with a gasp.

“Whoa–, easy.”

Oliver is sitting next to him, his large right palm on Elio’s left shoulder. He is wearing nothing but his green swim trunk. Oliver is evening his breaths, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat.

He must have just finished his jogging, Elio gathers. And all Elio can think is how good Oliver smells. It's like everything is amplified in ten-fold, the omega thinks almost dazed. 

“When did you–, how is–, why are you––?” Elio stumbles over his own words.

“You’re a late riser these days.”

_What is he saying?_

“The run was really good this morning. The wild berries are ripening, along the trail you showed me,” Oliver offers gently.

Berries? Elio feels his skin is getting tingly. Mind of their own. And all he wants is to lean forward and have Oliver hug him in. What am I thinking? How did I not sense him?

“Has anyone tell you, you are too quiet for a person of your size?” the dark curls evades with a feign indifference.

Oliver holds Elio's wide-eyed gaze still. Elio sees a gentle yet genuine smile coloring Oliver’s face.

“Yes,” Oliver replies, taking in a slow audible breath, “you have.”

That makes Elio chuckle, nervously, but he knows he is relaxing a little by little.

“Did you sleep okay?” the blond asks as if it matters to him.

Elio answers with half-hearted rumble of his throat in between ‘yeah’ and ‘so so.’

“Are you still having bad dreams?”

Elio senses a caution in Oliver’s voice.

“They are… just dreams,” Elio quickly dismisses in a low fleeting tone.

 _Calling it ‘bad dreams’ only means that they are rare_ , Elio mulls the thought to himself.

Although they both know that two are fully aware of Elio’s continued nightmares, (as waking up in the middle of the night are rather frequent, him catching his sleep during broad daylight, not eating well), the dark curls feels a warmth at the middle of his sternum, of being concerned over. Yet Elio cannot help but feeling overjoyed and irritable at the same time, hell-of-a-conflicting emotions, about Oliver taking interest in him, this way.

The literal battle of his own thoughts continues:

_Why is he asking questions that he already know the answer to?_

_It’s nice that he cares. Does he care? Does he… like me?_

That’s when Elio is fully engulfed in the heady scent of Oliver, taking all his senses into a hyperdrive. A sudden gust of warm breeze from the opposite direction only intensifies it.

 _Oh, god…_ , Elio swallows hard.

“er––, I’m thirsty,” the hazel eyes rolls his body to the other side of the patio lounger, “would you like to have some lemonade? I’m sure Mafalda will be happy to see you.”

Although Elio is looking at him over his shoulder in a stolen glance, he senses Oliver’s discontentment. Have I done something to upset you? But why?

Unbeknownst to him, despite Oliver’s poker face, the blond is thinking; you are pulling away again, aren’t you? I can tell that much about you.

After a brief moment of pause and an exhale that resembled a lot like a subdued and carefully controlled sigh, “yeah, I could use some,” and Oliver gets up off the chair. Then, without waiting for Elio, the blond walks on to the kitchen entrance of the villa.

So, you _ARE_ upset.

.

A week goes by, Elio thoroughly enjoys his new cast and how easier it is for him to move around-n-about and do stuff, compared to the heavy plaster cast. It enables him to want to be social, a bit more. He texts his friends to come visit the villa. They hang around on the chaise lounger. Elio is sprawled on top of their lap. Him reading his spin-halved-in-half paperback, an old edition of his go-to choice. Other two, their eyes on their respectable mobile phones. Another male sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the couch, examines Elio’s futuristic cast.

._._._.  
It was definitely a bizarre experience to be fitted with such a high tech medical gear. One of the technicians told Elio that this is usually for the prosthesis. Adding that the first ones to benefit with this technology were the war veterans. The pneumonic hinge at the sides of knee softens the movement of extension and flexion, without affecting the primary purpose of having a cast. She calibrated with her precision tools, turning it clock-wise and counter clock-wise to make sure, so that Elio-specifically-fitted cast would respond in the right pressure/revolution.

“Because of the fact that we need to get your bones healed first, you won’t be able to bend as much but enough to move around a little bit more comfortably,” she explained.

The fact that hexagon honey-comb structure leaves most of his skin exposed is a great improvement. Elio did wonder, however, how he was able to get this fitted for him, less than five business days. By just the looks of it, this whole thing looks so expensive. Yes, the Perlmans are financially comfortable but the dark curls is well aware their family is not that comfortable.

His lips itched and twitched, wanting to ask some questions. But something in the back of his head told him not to. So, Elio just entertained the techs by asking about the details of his new cast. What the material is. How long have they been working with the company. Whether they know anything about the founders.

“We do recommend, though,” she began, “acclimatize yourself into this, using crutches, and always remember to take slow steps.”  
._._._.

.

Samuel keeps Oliver busy with digitizing many of his materials. The alpha, Samuel's now most favorite summer assistant, somehow rented a device that scans and tags each photo and document, accordingly. Samuel is so happy about having a versatile intern. Oliver not only upgrades professor’s sluggish computer with solid state drive but also the processing speed by doubling RAM.

“If I knew it was this easy, you wouldn’t have gone through,” professor gestures devices and parts that are now set aside, “all of this.”

A look of flabbergasted, Samuel smiles with a sigh, “what have I been doing for the past two years? carrying all these around?”

With nonchalant click here and a click there, Oliver just chuckles low as he continues to scan and verifies the file as each item is being automatically sorted.

The blue eyes even upgrades professor’s phone with microSD card: 1 TB.

“All these in this little thing?” Samuel asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, pro,” Oliver smiles fondly, showing how he can save and retrieve, also not forgetting to explain about the cloud service Samuel could use.

“No, no, Oliver, call me old fashioned but what if the internet crashes?” shaking his head, “digitizing all this makes me nervous enough. But I know I need to evolve, so.”

Oliver chuckles lightly, “I understand, pro,” reaching his dominant arm to the pile.

Suddenly, the blue eyes stops his motions. And his nostril minutely flares. And just outside the professor’s library, Elio takes an inaudible gasp as he quietly steps back against the wall, to hide himself behind the shaded corner. Samuel is so giddy and does not notice this change in Oliver, as he continues on sharing his yester-year stories of being a beta academic. Oliver hums quietly with a barely there smile. Then, the blue eyes' throat waves, making a slow vertical movement as Elio leans the back of his head on the wall further, sighing to himself.

.

Elio’s heart jolts the next morning when he sees Oliver at their usual spot in the garden, the hazel eyes knows that it is no use.

 _Does his heart jolt when he sees me walk into a room_? Elio wonders. But he shakes his head, his wayward curls swaying wildly, quickly dismissing his own thought, _I doubt it_.

Elio stayed up all night re-living the image he saw yesterday evening. He and his friends from his high school, sans Marzia, was invited to a little party downtown: 80s themed get-together. Every one accept Elio took time to dress up to honor the party’s theme appropriately.

It was when Elio slipped his sixth cigarette in between his lips, a tall glass of iced tea in the same grip. The fact that Oliver and Chiara fooling around on the dance floor was already bothering him enough. But… Elio’s jaw dropped when he saw Chiara slipped her thigh between Oliver’s legs.

When had it started?, was the beginning of the hazel eyes’ spiral-down of self-torment.

_And how was it that I hadn’t been there when it started? And why wasn’t I told? Why wasn’t I able to reconstruct the moment when they progressed from x to y? Surely the signs were all around me. Why didn’t I see them?_

Oliver is closely approaching his prime years as an alpha and Chiara a feisty beta with nice enough features.

 _What’s next? Will I, one day, see them mock-wrestle on the sand by the shore?_ Elio tries his very best to turn his thoughts into wishing them his best and longing for recovery once this summer guest hosting thing be over. Yet all those rational sequences of thoughts have nothing to do with what he still wants from him. The painful juxtaposition of the memory. The dark curls screws his eyes shut. The desperate sensation of him feeling burning from inside out on that Wednesday evening is too overpowering. Though it is now more than a couple of weeks ago, the emotion Elio had is forever etched in every cell of his being. The frustration and the anxiety of being trapped inside of his own body was too much and too vivid. And then… miraculously, Oliver hurrying in with the look on his face that Elio was the most precious being in the alpha’s life. Those two piercing blue eyes. And the cold shower and gentle yet comforting embrace that followed were... . Elio remembers being enveloped in Oliver’s tender embrace. Being so so close to his heady yet never overpowering scent. Of juniper, moss, and white pepper with the top note of water melon. He smells like a sunset over the mountain. Elio steels himself, filling his lungs.

Will he ignore me the way I ignored him during that party: on purpose, to draw me out, to protect himself, to show I was nothing to him? Or was he oblivious, the way sometimes the most perceptive individuals fail to pick up the most obvious cues because they’re simply not paying attention, not tempted, not interested? Elio takes a couple more moments to himself before he finally decides to step out to the garden where Oliver is laying on the long edge of the brick-laid pool. When Elio thinks he is managing very well in his subterfuge of not noticing Oliver as he goes to the nearest peach tree, the hazel eyes hears,

“Just listen to this drivel that I found while I was rearranging the old files on my phone.”

Oliver is on his back his legs crossed at the ankles. His face covered in his dark sunglasses. His hair is not mussed over like his usual self. This time, in his rare, green swim trunk.

“For the early Greeks, Heidegger contends, this underlying hiddenness is constitutive of the way beings are, not only in relation to themselves but also to other entities generally. In other words, they do not construe hiddenness merely or primarily in terms of entities' relation to human beings. Does this make any sense to you?”

“I bet it did when you wrote it. Besides just because you decided not to include that in your book doesn’t mean that it was a bad writing.”

 _Oh, fuck_ , Elio thinks as he grimaces but manages to straighten his face.

Oliver pauses. A few seconds later, the blond lifts his shade a little and peeks up at him.

“And how does a person such as yourself come across reading a book about an ancient philosopher?”

Elio shrugs his shoulders as if it’s just another subject that he talks about with any other person.

“Let me guess, being a professor’s son?”

The hazel eyes takes a couple more steps to the nearest peach tree.

“What made you re-read that this morning?” asks the dark curls.

“Elio Perlman, are you changing the subject?”

“Mm~, I don’t know,” the hazel eyes replies nonchalantly, “are you, Oliver, a person who dwells on the past?”

.

In the distance, Mafalda is, as usual, scolding Mredi about the muddy boot prints he left that are trailing from the back garden to the side door leading to the shed. Samuel is sitting at the outside dining table reading the newspaper. He probably is the only handful left who still get a physical newspaper delivered every Sunday.

Elio quietly walks across the hallway from his room into Oliver’s room.

 _This is not you_ , the dark curls chides himself and sigh quietly under his breath.

Yet he cannot help himself. He wants to spy on him. He wants to know more about Oliver. Elio darts his eyes as he slowly opens the door of his old room. As soon as he pushes his head in, Elio is greeted with overwhelming scent of Just Oliver. His heart speeds up like a teenage girl swooning over a pop-star.

This guest has definitely made himself at home. Though neatly arranged, he pushed two separate twin beds into one. At the foot of the bed, there is folded garment. Must be his night clothes. Oh, wait, that’s what Mafalda left on his bed.

 _Hang on… does he sleep naked_?

Elio shakes his head furiously, his cheeks blushing like magnolia. As he is aware the floor of his old room creaks like an old unattended attic, he takes one careful step at a time. Elio doesn’t want Mafalda finding out him prying without permission of this year’s summer guest.

He suddenly huffs with a saucy grin. Because… as he doesn’t have any scenting glands, Elio cannot help but to feel thrilled at the fact that he can and will get away with this behavior. So, after filling his lungs, he parks his butt at the edge of the bed. The first thing that comes to his view is a single article of garment on the floor. Out of place.

Elio blinks, simply fixated at Oliver’s red swim trunk.

Oh, you perv, he reproaches himself. But he reaches down, rather gingerly, and picks it up. Immediately, he melts at the texture in his grip. As if he is somehow touching Oliver there, his lean long yet firm runner’s legs. Tight and round gluts. Elio sighs low, his jaws bulging with inexplicable desire brewing deep in his stomach. With a groan like moan, the dark curls brings the swim trunk to his face. A long sigh of relief escapes from Elio. His shoulders sagging, his upper body bowing forward a bit. So this is how he smells like. Without sun lotion, body care product.

 _Aw, fuck_ , he quickly catches his mouth watering. Can’t you be any juvenile? and he peels the red garment off his face. A pause. Elio simple blinks, looking down at the piece of nothing-fancy clothing on his palms. Then, he huffs with another cheeky grin. With the ‘oh, hell with it’ look, Elio puts the swim suit over his head, adjusting it to make sure it covers his ears and forehead. Self-mocking chuckles quietly echoes as a satisfying smile blooms on his face.

On the bedside table, there is a pint size glass mason jar. Filled with tiny 3D origami stars: matte blue, glossy silver, baby blue. If he is keeping this on his bed side, it must be important. Elio reasons to himself as he carefully picks it up into his grip. The stars were made so well and so small, they kind of give a distinct vibe that it isn’t something Oliver had made for himself. A gift.

Maybe from his students? No… someone more important because he brought it all the way out here. Even for a temporary stay. Especially, if he is keeping it on his bed side table of all places.

Elio rolls his wrist and his eyes catch something more unique on its back. The surface of this canning jar is sand-blasted to frost. And on top of its surface, it is etch-ornated with beautiful calligraphy.

“I LOVE YOU against reason,  
against promise, against peace,  
against hope, against happiness,  
against all discouragement that could be.”

Elio can only gasp softly. He recognizes the quote immediately; it’s a variation of what Pip says to Estella in _Great Expectations_. The unrequited love.

Elio places the jar back on the table as if he is handling a delicate archeological artifact. As closely as he found it before he lifted into his palm. Somebody must love him so much. The effort and time it must have took to make those tiny stars... and the words… He blinks, staring at the jar. Then, Elio clicks his tongue, tartly, with a hard scowl.

“And you go out and fuck around,” the hazel eyes mutters under his breath, “even when you have someone who loves you this much.”

Elio glowers some more, taking Oliver’s red trunk off of his head. He then, angrily and dismissively tosses it down to the floor. Why am I getting so upset? He is a single alpha after all. He can do whatever the fuck he wants.

Elio squints at the carelessly strewn red swim trunk on the floor.

 _So, typical_.

.

Elio is sitting on the bench that Menfredi salvaged from an old abandoned villa down the street, four summers ago. It is an exceptionally muggy afternoon. On the brick laid patio dining area that the Perlmans love, four people are sitting there. The usual guests who stopped by before lunch. Samuel is entertaining them with his vast knowledge of subjects, even the politics. Annella taking a slow drag from her favorite German cigarette.

The acoustic guitar on the hazels eyes’ lap was a gift from his distant relative. Hand-made by one of the local mom-and-pop shop. The craftsman is known to reclaim old oaks from the old buildings. Those reclaimed woods–; they are something else. Though straight and plank in shape, each has weathered the years of changes in moisture and heat, deep into the core of their structures within. A curing process of expansion, warping, and hardening provided only by the Mother Nature. Materials that this local guitar maker collects, naturally, have a distinct resilience to them. That the finished product creates a resonance a newly lumbered or chemically treated wood cannot replicate. The artists of his following call it "soul." He even preserves the natural cracks and blemishes with the pine resin made out of his own formula.

“That sounds really nice,” Oliver’s voice, low and quiet from disuse, echoes from where he is lying down.

The blond is about three steps away, his skin now more of red clay, all over. Funny tan-lines long gone. Oliver is only wearing his yellow swim trunk, his straw hat covering his face.

Elio’s fingers stop, as the lazy strums.

Oliver turns his head. His hand comes up and his left hand lifts the straw hat. Lazily peel-opening his eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” a genuine surprise.

“er… I thought you weren’t listening.”

Oliver huffs with a soft smile.

“It’s Bach, right?” tosses the blond.

How…? Elio begins but quickly corrects himself, of course he knows.

“uh…yes, capriccio in B flat major,” answers Elio, dropping his head a little, trying to hide his suddenly heating cheeks.

“Didn’t know he wrote it for a guitar,” Oliver says nonchalantly.

Instead of answering or countering his comment (more of just out-there fishing statement), Elio begins to strum the same cadenza in what Liszt would have if he had jimmied with the Bach’s version. As expected, Oliver head tips up with a surprise, three lines knitting between his eyebrows.

“It’s different, why’d you change it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Elio feigns disinterest, “I think Liszt would have liked it this way.”

“Did he, now?” Oliver tosses a look with a dubious grin, “play it the way it is originally written, will yeh?”

“O~~~, you want me to play it again~?” Elio counters Oliver, dragging the syllables playfully.

“I am not gonna beg, if that’s what you mean,” Oliver is now laying on his side, his torso propped up on his bent elbow, facing Elio.

The dark curls shrugs very lightly and adjusts in his seat, shimmying his damp-with-sweat tush a little on the bench.

Oliver’s eyebrows rise with a look of, ‘well, go on~, I’m waiting.’

Elio takes a sweet little moment, his gaze locked on Oliver’s, before he moves his fingers over the strings.

“Ufft!! You changed it again,” Oliver pushes himself up, “why?” and now sitting with his legs folded in front of him, throwing his arms up in mid-air with a look, ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’

“It’s how Buzoni would have,” Elio explains with a little puff on his cheek, giving a side glance of ‘oh, you know I wasn’t gonna be that easy.’

“What’s wrong with Bach the way Bach wrote it?”

“Like you said, Bach never wrote this for a guitar. In fact, we are not even sure it’s by Bach at all––.”

“You know, by construct, piano and guitar are similar,” Oliver points out with a distinctly cocked eyebrow.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Elio grins with a gentle shake of his head, “no~, professor, the piano hammers the strings,” he then peels his palm from the body of his guitar and gestures, “this, on the other hand,” and he raises his hand a little and strum-fiddles his fingers.

Oliver clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes now, then proceeds to fold his arms in to his chest with a look.

“If anything, a harpsichord is closer to a guitar than a piano. As a clavichord strikes them.”

Oliver tilts his head to the side very minutely.

Two just stay like that without words, with a delicious and rosy-pink tension hanging between them. Elio wants to know what Oliver is thinking. And the stray of warm breeze swifts by, from his left. The blond, ever-so-slightly tilts his head further, not breaking his gaze on Elio’s. His lips parts a little, soon closes. Then, Oliver swallows quietly before he opens his mouth and says:

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

Elio’s breaths suddenly pause at those words. Oh––, his voice. And all he manages to do is blink. A warm sensation, like that of the world’s softest and smoothest fabric, begins to wrap around his spine ever so slowly. And the tingling electric feel climbs up so so unhurriedly, making the hazel eyes tighten in his core.

Oliver just brings his knees closer to the middle of his torso, hugging them loosely with his bent elbows. His hands lacing through, as his thumbs press gently together in front of him.

“I uh… I wouldn’t say that,” offers Elio, finally, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Oliver’s chin tips up only a tad, with a low rumbling ‘hm.’ Then, he sucks in an audible breath slowly, as his chest expands wide to the side, his shoulders totally relaxed, not moving.

“Could you please play it again?” and this time, Oliver asks nicely, intentionally in a lower pitch with his famed baritone notes.

Elio parts his lips with a tiny gasp, at how good his voice sounds to his ears. Oliver raises his eyebrows, urging Elio with a kind and tender look of want and plea. That’s when Elio gives in, with a jovial smile, tipping his head down and to the side a little, mouthing, ‘okay.’ The dark curls looks down at his guitar and places his fingers as if he is presenting this piece for a major recital event.

Then, the soft notes begin.

Oliver slowly closes his eyes as the rays of Italian sun peeks through the shade that is graciously created by the lush green leaves. His toes lift just a bit, off the graveled ground, as the blond immerses himself into the melody created by Elio’s expert fingers.

The notes are like spring, young and green, filled with hopes and dreams.

Yet Elio doesn’t dare to look up at this picture-ask moment, this gorgeous alpha, but focuses on getting the notes right.

.

Elio begins to think of nothing but what Oliver and Chiara might do together. The dark curls would have done anything to ruin every opportunity they had to be alone. Elio would have slandered one to the other, then used the reaction of one to report it back to the other. But Elio also wants to see them do it, he wants to be in on it, have them owe Elio and make himself their necessary accomplice, their go-between, the pawn that has become so vital to king and queen that it is now master of the board. Elio begins to say nice things about each, pretending he has no inkling where things stand between them. Oliver thinks Elio is being coy or fastidious. She says she can take care of herself.

“Are you trying to fix us up?” derision crackling in Oliver's voice.

Elio describes her naked body, which he’d seen two years ago before he went away to Paris. Elio wants him aroused. It doesn’t matter what he desires so long as he is aroused. The dark curls would describe Oliver to her too, because Elio wants to see if her arousal takes the same turns as his own, so that Oliver may trace Elio on hers and see which of the two is the genuine article.

“Are you trying to make me like her?”

“What would be the harm in that?”

“No harm. What’s it to you anyway?" Oliver asks, in his usual undiscernible tone.

“I don’t know, she seems to fawn all over you and… you kissed her back.”

“Do you hook up with every one you ever kissed?”

Elio does not answer.

“Ah… young padawan, I think you are trying to fish for something. Well, thanks buddy, but I like to go it alone, if you don’t mind. Unlike you, I have long passed the raging hormone stage.”

It takes Elio a while to understand what he was really after. Not just to get Oliver aroused in his presence, or to make Oliver need him, but in urging him to speak about her behind her back, Elio would gladly turn Chiara into the object of man-to-man gossip. In his logic, it would allow two of them to warm up, break the ice, to one another through her, to bridge the gap between them by admitting they are drawn to the same person.

Perhaps Elio just wants him to know he likes girls, too. No matter the secondary gender.

“Look, it’s very nice of you—and I appreciate it. But don’t.”

And, unexpectedly, that is the beginning of their long no-communication.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Elio’s short term memory loss: since the focus of this fic line is not in any way demonstrating/representing/accurately describing the seriousness and the devastation of such horrifying event and its recovery process that follows, I have elected to give Omega!_Elio _complete_ short term memory loss. In real life, even with amnesia the emotions and stress response come through in their varying intensity, frequency, and combination of physical pain and psychological distress. I am only knowledgeable by experience and I don’t need to tell you _my_ story to get the meaning across. (as I mentioned before, I am very firm on not bringing my personal ‘anything’ directly into any of the posts I upload here in AO3 *wink*) I sincerely hope you would generously understand this long pondered and seriously considered decision. Because our Omega!_Elio in this AU still needs a lot of time to heal: not just physically but also emotionally and mentally, regardless of the fact, he could recall the event himself or not.  
> –Recovering from such traumatic event is vastly different from a person to person. If any of you are interested in some references, please do not hesitate to ask me. I will try my very best to direct you to the right materials.  
> –On this note, the summer guest’s stay duration for this AU is extended to 12 weeks.  
> –John Vallier (1920 ~ 1991): an English classical pianist/composer who was known for his thunderous technique and beautiful singing tone, and was especially admired for his interpretations and performances of Chopin and Schumann.  
> ; in this chapter, Omega!_Elio is playing [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SviWtp7wcTo).  
> ; cf. there is a Professor, Ethnomusicology Curator in UW (WA state) with the same name. If you are a fan of good vinyl music, you can easily understand my sincere envy and admiration for his passion. He not only is surrounded by countless vinyl collection but he is actively engaged in preserving all types of sound and music including that of American indigenous heritage. I'm not certain whether Pr. J. Vallier @UW is related to English pianist J. Vallier but... *shrug*  
> –[Types of cast] two most common types: plaster and fiberglass  
> i. plaster cast (bulky, heavy) repositioning/manipulating back dislocated or broken bones with precision. Molds better.  
> ii. fiberglass cast (newer, lighter, easier, longer wear, more breathable) green-stick fracture, for patients with already-healing process that does not require tightly fitted molding  
> – _Girl with Peaches_ (1887) by the Russian painter Valentin Serov. It is considered to be one of Serov's greatest works and one of his most famous. Serov's friend and biographer, Russian art historian Igor Grabar, acclaimed it as "the masterpiece of Russian painting".  
> –The local guitar shop is derivative from an actual guitar maker in NYC. *wink*  
> –Elio’s guitar version is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIthynpY2mo): fast-forward to 8:00min mark  
> .  
> (whewww––, long arse chapter end note: murder me~~)  
> As always, \Thank You/ for following this fic, your time and interest.  
> For those of you in the states, Happy Fourth!  
> Do kindly please take care of yourselves (if not else, for me) and stay healthy: mind, body, and soul.  
> 


	7. Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio’s jealousy, him playing cool, him complaining to Marzia about Oliver saying groundless accusations like ‘he must be fucking everybody in town and even in B.’ Marzia accidentally tells him about Oliver. Things spiral down for Elio and he goes and does things seriously stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Trigger Warning]: although in A/B/O way, Omega!_Elio’s destructive behaviour, dissociation, sexual manipulation, and gender dysphoria are mentioned. As these elements are embedded in the club scene, please, please, do proceed with caution. If any of these is a trigger, Please, please, scroll to find ‘ **#** ,’ skip ‘ **+**.’  
> –erhmm..., my rating sensor has been off from the get-go. Please do kindly let me know if it needs a rating jump.  
> 

**Chapter Six. Tower**

**Eight Weeks into Oliver’s stay at the Perlman’s Villa | Crema, Italy**

Burned Sugar or… is it Burned Caramel…?

Something that should have never been left on the simmering low heat too long in a traditional copper candy pot. As if Oliver is standing next to an active volcano or a hot spring, a mixture of sulfur, hot ash, and burned sweet something hits his nose.

The sound of pouring Italian Summer rain traps every possible scent particle being emitted into this quaint, picturesque haven.

Elio is fuming. He is standing on his better leg, his back stiff. A deep frown between his eyebrows. Very unlike him to be this upset. A flash of contempt and anger flood in his magnificent hazel eyes.

“(DID YOU KNOW THIS)??”

.

._._._.  
 **Monday Mid-morning | Four days after 'the back alley' incident | Private Medical Center | Just Outside of Downtown Paris, France**

The medical staff and the police didn’t share that Elio’s short term memory loss is a blessing for him. The Perlmans came to find out the very nurse who has helped delivering Elio, almost 20 years ago, was in charge of their son's care. Three shared loving and lasting hugs. This nurse was the one who informed them about the light blue shirt.

“Nothing seems to help Elio with his pain. Never mind his sleep. We tried everything,” he listed the medications including the known calming pheromone diffusor which is used for different genders for medical purposes.

Listening to him about the glimpse of the aftermath of what had taken place, Samuel could not help but to feel exasperated. He ran his palms over his face. Annella soothed and calmed her husband.

“Just out of hunch,” the nurse continued, getting to the point of what he was trying to say, “I took out this shirt that he came to this hospital with,” the body-builder physique nurse carefully pulled out Oliver’s button-down shirt, from the muslin bag that has the INPATIENT PERSONAL BELONGINGS in French. Then, he paused; his lips pressing together, making a thin line.

The nurse took in a meaningful breath before he continue d, “once I placed this over him, Elio slowly but _finally_ began to stabilize. Maybe it’s yours?”

Samuel carefully examined the shirt. Even a beta himself, Samuel became a bit overcome with the weighty scent that belonged to an alpha—woodsy with a swift shot of white pepper. It was not threatening or too heavy. Yet the beta father could tell the scent was a similar character and profile of Marzia’s. Classy, Samuel thought to himself as he shook his head ‘no' to the sincerely concerned nurse. At the back of Pro’s head, a thought emerged, from an innocent suspicion, of this wonderful caring nurse knew something more than he was leading them on. Because, for one, no beta could smell in this profile. A medically trained nurse of his caliber surely have been educated in this. But the beta father didn’t press any further. Instead, Samuel asked, “how was our son able to get to this facility?”

Without missing a beat, as if he was expecting this line of question, the nurse went, “we do not know. I thought it was in his documents.”

Though his expression indiscernible, Annella sensed that the nurse appeared to know more of the what-had-happened-behind-the-scenes. Like her husband, she too did not press the subject matter any further. Her focus was more on her son being alive and well, especially, being taken care of by these prestigious medical center and its staff.

The nurse gave the Perlmans some pre-warning what they were about to see in the inpatient room. Even the watered-down version of what procedures the doctors’ have performed were disheartening enough.

“We had the plastic surgeon on shift so Elio will have minimum scaring,” the nurse reassured the Perlmans.

The part where they heard some of lab results, two parents let out a sigh of relief.

“Elio is on prevention prophylaxes and the attending wants me to let you know that we are going to assure everything in our power to get your son better,” the nurse offered a gentle smile.

Marzia, who has been standing close by, filled them in. That she arrived here on Sunday afternoon, as her cell phone was damaged during her trip. She added, late in the evening on Saturday, she had a nagging and queasy feeling, right under her diaphragm that she made her feel she needed to check her voicemail. And that was when she found out about Elio’s condition. All the weekend trains were already sold out and there was no other way but to wait until the one at 11 o’clock on Sunday morning.

Samuel thanked her, regardless. Marzia apologized.

“Oh…, sweetheart. It’s not your fault,” Annella soothed her with a warm hug.

.

The nurse double-confirmed with the Perlmans, once more, before he finally push-opened the door for the worried parents. Annella gasped quietly when she saw her son on the bed. But she kept her calm. Samuel, however, could no longer keep his composer and started to sob.

“Oh, tesoro, my dear son!” he said with his voice damp, looking at Elio’s metal braced fingers, his casted leg.

Marzia, too, started to cry. Annella pulled her in close as she ran her palm tenderly on Marzia’s upper arm.  
._._._.

.

“What are you doing?”

A voice rings crisply from Elio’s left.

“Reading,” Elio answers, fumbling to get the open book that is resting on his face the right way.

It’s been almost ten days. Oliver and Elio haven’t been in speaking terms. They sit at the breakfast table. They say good mornings and exchange some pleasantries only when Samuel and Annella are around. But that’s the extent of their interaction. And Oliver had more days of missing his dinner. A few days back, Elio overheard Oliver telling Malfalda that he wouldn’t be here for dinner. Oliver stopped lounging around the spot where he called ‘heaven.’ The spot where Elio has been intentionally hanging around hoping to catch a glimpse of Oliver. Oliver hangs around the volleyball court and the beach down through the back. But never here: it’s been more than a week.

“No, you are not. You were napping.”

Vimini is always able to see right through Elio. She is seven years younger than Elio but he reacts as though she is his older sister. Two have a same birthday.

“Are you hydrating?” Vimini asks.

Elio groans, straightening his sun glasses.

“Mafalda will not be happy. She always knows, you know,” Vimini remarks, sitting next to Elio’s knee, before pointing her index finger to a corner of Elio’s mouth.

“What~?” Elio pulls in his chin, embarrassed a little.

Because Vimini is letting Elio know of his drool.

“Did you see Oliver today?” Vimini asks, her tone clearly denoting she is leading on to something.

Elio just shrugs, feigning indifference.

“Why are you being mean to him?”

“huh?” Elio retorts, with his forehead scrunching towards his hairline, eyebrows knitting close together.

Vimini scoffs, “don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You are not dumb.”

Elio groans.

“You know I won’t live long. And you go and do things like that. It upsets me,” Vimini says, this time, so austerely.

Elio’s upper lip quirks into a half scowl, feeling as though she pressed on the right button. Vimini has been in remission for a couple of years, leukemia, and both know that she is due for another check-up.

“Like what?” it’s a dumb thing to do, Elio is aware, asking such a question back at her.

Vimini slaps her hand on Elio’s sun-toasty thigh, “what? what you ask? You acting like a five-year-old. That’s what.”

Two play-wrestle under Vimini giggles with all teeth smile and Elio surrendering her usual beyond-her-year observation and wisdom.

“He is our guest,” Elio tells her.

“Like you did with Maynard and Pavel?”

“Hey~, they were–, I wasn’t even–,” Elio stammers.

Of course, it’s not just Vimini. Everyone in the villa, including Marzia, has known that Elio has a tendency to get easily attached to people. Yet, for some reason, the dark curls shrunk back to his shell, as usual. Well, with those two, Elio wasn’t even majority. I wasn’t even 18 back then, Elio wants to rebuke but he knows what Vimini means.

“It’s not like we are living in an olden days as if you have to be betrothed to date someone,” Vimini begins.

“But you know I am not–.”

Before Elio has a chance to finish, Vimini pinches Elio’s skin hard.

“Ouch, what’s that for?”

“What’s worse? My body killing me or you not having scenting glands?” Vimini dares him with a scornful look on her face, “didn’t we already have this conversation?”

Elio looks into her eyes. If there is a way Elio can have Vimini to not ever worry about her cancer coming back, he would do _anything_. In a heartbeat. Then,

“……You promised,” Vimini’s worked-up face turns into a very sad sulk.

Two become quiet. And a whirl of warm summer breeze passes through and by them, carrying the aroma of ripening apricots and peaches from Annella’s orchard.

Elio reaches out his arm and places his palm on Vimini’s face.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Vimini grumbles with her cheeks puffing a little, making a cute little face, with a pout.

Elio agrees with quiet chuckles as he mouths, ‘okay.’ Then, two get up off the patio lounger and walk towards the nearest apricot tree. From the kitchen back entrance, Mafalda walks out with a basket saying, ‘ah~, perfect timing.’

.

“When are you coming home?” Elio adjusts his stance, up in his room, looking outside through the wide open window. It’s pouring: summer shower. Weather here is getting difficult to predict. The forecast said, partly cloudy.

_“You know I hate talking to you when you have me on speaker.”_

Elio rolls his eyes, “yes, mom,” then, he opens one of his drawers and fishes out a tangled headset.

_“Elio?”_

“Hang on,” he moves to his desk, “Bluetooth bothers my ears for some reason, so I’m getting the earphone,” and pulls open his top drawer.

_“The red spaghetti one?”_

Elio pauses, looking down at his palm. And a half smile blooms, “yup, you know me better than anyone else.”

He plops down on his bed and plugs the headset.

“Okay, can you hear me?”

_“ha–, ha–, very funny.”_

Both laugh, at the same time.

_“So, why is my Elio so grumpy today ?”_

“Oh, please––, don’t sound like some patronizing alpha.”

_“You do know I can easily tell when something is wrong.”_

Elio makes unrecognizable grumbles.

_“Elio…, will you please just tell me straight? And I promise I won’t play twenty questions with you.”_

“You know we have a summer guest, right?”

_“What’s this one do? Can’t be worse than the one from Chicago.”_

Elio groans, putting his bent arm over across his eyes.

_“Oh, you had a crush on him. Admit it.”_

“Not you too,” Elio shakes his head. Déjà vu, anyone? First Vimini, now Marzia. In a same day. Same day!! Elio thinks to himself, “this cannot be happening. I hate you!”

_“What’s what cannot be happening? You know you love me.”_

Elio falls silent.

_“What’s going on?”_

“I don’t get him.”

_“What do you mean? Is he mean to you?”_

“No, he is…He looks at me with this look as if he knows something. Too observant. Too polite. Too self-assured…”

_“Did you expect him to be some kind of stereo typical entitled alpha? I have never stopped being an alpha, you know. That hurts.”_

“You know I don’t ever think that about you.”

_“Then, what is it?”_

Elio fills Marzia of what happened at the party and their conversation about Chiara. Marzia sighs.

_“It’s very unlike you.”_

“What do you mean?”

_“Elio I know is... usually very blunt and straight forward. But with this Oliver guy, you seem…”_

“What? Too omega?”

 _“Hey…,”_ Marzia says in a soft voice.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 _“There is 'nothing' wrong with you. You know that,”_ Marzia says with her trademark soothing tone, _“how about you just tell him how you feel…”_

“Oh, when did you become a mind-reader, Marzia?” counters Elio, rolling his eyes.

_“I can hear you rolling your eyes. and don’t be so pissy. You can just tell me you miss me.”_

Elio sighs, “… yes, I do. I miss you very much.”

_“Besides, he will be very thankful being approached by you. You know as he met you in that horrible circumstances. Considering everything he did for you until I was able to get to you that weekend.”_

Elio pauses.

_“oh, shit. Elio?”_

“What horrible circumstances?”

Then, everything clicks. The snippets of scenes plays in his head like a movie: the hospital room, the cognitive interview, the familiarity of Oliver's scent, Marzia talking to someone standing right outside the window, the by-stander named ‘Mister Oliver.’

Elio runs both of his palms over his face with heavy sigh.

“How… how could I be so… why didn’t I see it before?”

Something dangerous coils and swirls deep in his stomach. But why? why??

_“Elio? Are you okay??”_

Elio no longer hears Marzia’s voice. A high pitch zing boars through his left temple, blinding him. The dark curls shut his eyes hard in sharp pain. As if on cue, a taxi pulls in, carrying Oliver as a passenger into the courtyard. Elio jolts upright on his bed. He looks out to make sure it is Oliver who is getting out of the cab.

“Sorry, I gotta go.”

And he ends the call.

.

**Down at the Study | Crema, Italy**

“(DID YOU KNOW THIS)??”

Only a few seconds ago, the hazel eyes almost tumbled down the stair case. Elio cursed at his dismal condition even with the most advanced cast. Almost thumping, almost falling over, he made it to his father’s study. And the omega just began spewing his sharp words. Oliver didn’t even have a chance to shake off the thick rain drops from his hair and shoulders.

Burned Sugar or… is it burned caramel…?

As if Oliver is standing next to an active volcano, a mixture of sulfur, hot ash and burned sweet something hits his nose, hard.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” wide-eyed Oliver asks to overly fuming Elio, calmly, “what is going on?”

“Did you know when you were applying for the internship?”

The dark curls is standing on his better leg, his back stiff. A deep frown between his eyebrows. Very unlike him to be this upset. A flash of contempt and anger flood in his magnificent hazel eyes.

“Elio!” Samuel warns sternly.

Elio catches Oliver’s face expression swiftly changing from a complete shock to ‘oh, you found out.’

“I’m not just some delicate helpless little omega you think I am.”

“Please, Elio–,” Oliver tries to begin.

“What are you trying to achieve here?”

Oliver puts up his open palm, tilting his head ever so lightly, his eyebrows drawing down in deep concern.

“So you what? you intentionally applied for my father’s internship opportunity to keep an eye on me?” Elio pours out his fury.

“Son!”

“Did you know this?” Elio turns toward his father and almost barks at him.

“You know it wasn’t our intention,” Samuel tries to offer his reason.

“And you didn’t think it was important for me to know? Wait! What do you mean ‘our’?”

“Mon amore?” Annella hurries in with a shock on her face, walking toward Elio with raised eyebrows.

“(Did you know this), mama?”

“Tesoro, slow down, what is going on?” Annella pleas with warm voice.

“Annella, I am truly sorry,” with his palm on his left chest, Oliver apologizes to Annella.

“Why are you apologizing? Did she know? Mama, (were you aware of him being the by-stander who got me to the ER)?”

“Elio, darling–,” Annella tries to offer some words.

Something snaps so hard deep in Elio, the only emotion he is rational and certain about is rage. Wrapped so tightly in layers of thick and viscous betrayal. All his life, the omega has never known he is capable of feeling this so far over the edge.

“You did! So what? the sit-down with me back in May was what? to know whether I recall anything? Or–, or– were you just trying to find out whether I recognized him or not? I can’t believe this,” Elio throws his arm up in the air with severe contempt.

“Sweetheart, please,” Annella tries to soothe Elio.

Even Mafalda walks in with a deep frown between her eyebrows, drying her hands in her apron. Oliver, who has been standing only five steps away, grits his teeth. A look of ‘I seriously don’t want to do this but I know I have no other choice.’ He crosses the floor in a swift three steps and takes hold of Elio upper arm with his right as he turns the hazel eyes around. Elio with his anger-flushed face looks up at the blond in a distinct, ‘duh fuck are you doing?’

But Oliver proceeds quickly by pulling his bent right arm further, making Elio’s upper body to almost arch forward towards the blond’s chest. With his left, Oliver cups the back of Elio’s skull in a firm grip, revealing the front of Elio’s neck. Then, the blue eyes tilts his head with his open mouth and engulfs the porcelain skin into his mouth.

Elio’s hands rise in defense, to push Oliver off of him but the sensation starts to bloom on his neck. It is something Elio never felt. And this new and completely foreign tactile input spreads like a water color ink in a bowl of clear water. Strangely, Elio finds himself starting to calm. The urge to resist dissipating ever so swiftly.

Three other people in the room are not even able to gasp or react properly.

This is one of classic submission rituals between the alpha-and-omega pair. Something that one would only see or experience in a very private setting. Because this gesture is normally done between prospective mates or already mated pairs. Most population have only read from literature or journals or seen through great works of arts.

The alpha's gentling teeth on Elio’s neck, Oliver nibbles the dark curls there. Oliver frowns as he tries his absolute best not to actually bite Elio's flesh over where his mouth is. But it is so tempting. The alpha finally has Elio the way any alpha would want an omega to be.

Get your head straight, Oliver. The blond reminds himself in his head.

_Remember why you are here. Don’t ever fucking lose your head! Remember!!_

Oliver’s eyes flare open as his left hand grip tightens, his fingertips rubbing the damp scalp of his beautiful omega.

With all his might, Oliver does not break the skin.

.

**Late Night | Pop-up Rave Night Club | Milan, Italy**

“(I CAN’T HEAR YOU!)” says Elio to the other guy’s ear. And he carries on dancing to the rhythm, tossing his hair, his arms & shoulders moving along the beat. The loud percussion booms and echoes. It almost makes the hazel eyes' eardrums hurt.

It has been two days since that treacherous rainy afternoon that Elio found out Oliver was the one who rescued him all those months ago. Unbeknownst to him, his parents and Oliver made some agreement to have Oliver as this year’s summer intern. Since Oliver’s field happens to be what the professor'd usually look for in the candidates, it was a great coincidence. The beta parents were advised by the hospital staff to take advantage of Oliver’s palliative effect on Elio. Perlmans tried to explain to their enraged son that it was them, not Oliver, whom suggested this solution.

His phone is buzzing like crazy with the messages "probably" from Marzia. Elio doesn’t recall much of what happened after he stormed down stairs—right after seeing Oliver getting out of a taxi, from his window. He remembers yelling at Oliver, on top of his lungs. Even to his parents who were trying to calm him. The hazel eyes didn’t know he could be that irrationally angry. The next thing he remember was… being engulfed in something very mysterious. Everything Oliver. His scent, his low rumble, his warmth. When he woke up, Elio was on his own bed, in her mother’s embrace. The dark curls couldn’t dare to ask what happened. He was more afraid of... the possibility of hearing his mother suggesting that Elio should rethink about going back to therapy sessions. Of which, the hazel eyes absolutely hates. Why do I need to remember what had happened to me to process my emotions? Even without remembering them, I suffer enough, don’t I?

Elio didn’t see Oliver at dinner the next day. The host's son didn’t bring up the subject about their summer guest, neither Samuel nor Annella. The heavy shower stopped briefly at night but started back up around the sunrise the next day. The Perlmans set at the dining room for breakfast with the shutter door wide open. Elio did notice, however, Mafalda didn’t even bother to set Oliver’s plates. The hazel eyes scrunched his lips to the left then to the right, picking at his food with his fork, before he finally deciding not to eat. Mafalda admonished with a deep frown on her face for 'thin & gaunt Elio' not eating anything. Annella gently reached out her hand, asking fuming Mafalda softly to leave him be.

“But Annella––,” Mafalda pressed further, with her open palms towards the direction Elio was walking away.

Annella smiled with her lips pressed firmly together, making a thin line. That made Mafalda sigh out aloud, shaking her head softly several times.

.

Once Elio was able to move about, Annella gone to take care of her work stuff, he bitterly tossed his phone.

\\\ 10 missed calls, 25 unread text messages \\\

_What did you expect? None of them is from Oliver._

Elio could not understand himself why he just didn’t turn off his mobile. _It's not like that Oliver would call or text me. Even the stupid, 'hey,' will never come_. _Oliver made that much clear_.

Then, Elio suddenly paused: he remembered something. A couple of weeks ago, he received an email about the pop-up rave coming to M. The dark curls quickly reached for his phone, opened his app, and started scrolling. Ah––, Yes!! He then thumbed the surface of his phone and tucked it between his ear and shoulder.

“Hey, are you still in town?”

.

_It doesn’t matter with whom. I wanna feel. I wanna know if I could be attractive. Without my biology dictating it. Without my scent glands. Damn whoever up there for not giving me what should have been rightfully mine._

The first alpha he hooks up with only wants to kiss his neck. Clear indication of scenting gland kink fan. Elio knows what he is getting into. With a heavily alcohol laden tongue, this unknown alpha licks and licks.

“What? Are you a beta? I don’t taste anything other than your skin,” the alpha shouts into his ear.

Elio just pushes his forearm across that alpha’s chest before he moves back to the dance floor.

Elio feels maimed and dirtied. Dirtied so bad he couldn’t like himself anymore. Dirtied so bad he forgot who he is and could not possibly think it up on his own, though he would live through and eventually get over that event he cannot recall. The amnesia. At the same time, he is afraid that one day he might remember the whole thing, out of the blue, at its worst timing ever. Yet, no one, no body on this planet would know what it is like.

The second alpha Elio hooks up with, kept rubbing his junk on the hazel eyes' legs. Elio fishes his hand into the alpha’s pants right where two are standing. In front of everybody. Whoa––, the alpha says before he takes off. Elio doesn’t care. He swigs another tiny beaker thing that looks like an alien blood from a movie: fluorescent green with black speckles floating inside.

The beats and the percussion are so so good. He is sweating all over, everything is blur, his inhibition melted away. Elio is aware exactly what he was doing: fraught, blatant self-destruction. The dark curls has known it isn’t from his upbringing. His parents has always been exceptionally great. Elio has never felt that he lacked anything. Not particularly, no. Even when he found out that he will never attract a mate the natural way as he lacks all and every possible scenting glands. He has been raised in a wonderful home; has led a comfortable life. But it’s not enough. He wants to be loved. Elio cannot understand why he has been so hung up on the fact that he is different. And that he will never be the one who he wants to be: biologically fully functioning omega. It grates him to his core. Not enough. Always echoes at the back of his head in its unending cycle.

Not enough–,

Not enough–,

Not enough–.

The third alpha he hooks up with, smells very similar to that of Oliver’s. Too over the top, though. Unlike Oliver’s modest yet classy scent. But this is as good as any. When the alpha takes hold of the dark curls’ wrist, ‘uft, fuck it,’ is Elio’s last thought.

+

The next thing he remember is him kneeling on the floor. What actually brings him back to himself is the god-awful sound his mouth and throat are making:

gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck

Elio’s eyes first darts to survey the area. Looks like a VIP lounge. Temporary curtained off from rest of the area, added by several sets of red velvet rope hung between two weighted silver poles. Other people are tangled in two or three around him. Only a few steps away.

gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck

Elio cannot comprehend how his gag reflex is not on. Then, the first thing he comes to focus is his slobber around his lips. And then, the brute grip of the alpha, the owner of the dick he is currently sucking. Then, his nose kicks in. As soon as his olfactory comes back online, the musk of this very alpha is burning his nose hair. Erghhh––, that is when he finally gags.

“That’s right. You like my big cock, don’t you?” the revolting alpha says low, placing Elio’s mouth back onto his cock, as the dark curls was trying to pull himself free.

Elio grimaces hard. The gruff grip of the alpha’s hand locks Elio’s head in place. Almost vice-like grip on the back of the dark curls’ head. This time, stench-ridden alpha is moving his hips into the hazel eyes mouth.

Elio gags again, hard.

gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck

Elio registers his own right hand fondling this alpha’s balls. How––? Before he can gather his thoughts, the alpha pulls Elio up by the hair, growling in deep arousal.

“I didn’t know a beta can suck a cock this gooood. You are too thin and scrawny for my taste but,” and he quickly turns Elio around and pushs him against the wall, "twink is not bad."

Something flashes in Elio’s head.

“Mm-hm–, look at that tight ass!”

Another flash. That engulfs Elio with swirling sensation. Nausea? Wooziness?

_I need to get out of here._

“Now be a good little bitch and take off your pants.”

“…No.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

This is not what I want. Elio finally starts to resist, “No, I’m gonna go.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” the alpha growls low, pushing himself closer on Elio’s back. Then, the unknown alpha pushes his hand roughly into Elio’s slacks.

“Get your hands off of me!!”

“Wait, are you an omega?”

Elio doesn’t have to look at this alpha to know what he is doing. The hand the dark curls slapped away from his pants is already on this nameless alpha’s nose. Then the alpha licks the slick from his fingers, “but you don’t have any scent. What are you? a freak?”

“I said, get your fucking hands off of me.”

“No–, with scent or no scent, your slick tells me you want to be fucked and I’m not gonna waste this rare opportunity.”

Elio screws his eyes shut. Shit! What did I get myself into?

#

“He said, no!” a familiar voice echoes low, this time with a growl.

Elio didn’t know Marzia can growl like that.

“Fuck, what? is he yours??”

Elio only hears Marzia’s rare growl as her warm hand wraps around his waist.

“Come on,” whispers Marzia softly to Elio’s ear.

“Maybe you should put a leash on him. He was sucking my cock like he has been starving for it.”

.

Elio doesn’t ask how Marzia knew where to find him. She probably has the GPS thing on as the guardianship paper allows her to, legally. She probably called the villa. And called his friends, too, to verify. She doesn’t even ask whether Elio is okay or not. She has always been able to smell that much from him. She just takes out her moist wipes and wipes Elio’s face. Without any words. Not even a frown. That is the worst and the best at the same time. But the hazel eyes knows he is now safe with her.

Elio turns his face away. Still defiant, not wanting to be treated like a helpless omega. Marzia just sighes, quietly.

“Let’s get you home,” is the only thing she says.

The whole train ride, Elio has his head on Marzia’s shoulder. One of her ear buds in his ear. Rach 3 and Tempest playing in alternate in infinite repeat, Marzia looking out. They don’t exchange any words. Patchouli berry and… persimmon, and cloves, Elio gathers. Marzia is upset. Like a storm brewing over calm deep deep ocean. But Elio cannot help but to feel so peaceful and relieved. That she is the one who got him out of the shallow grave he dug & almost buried himself in.

She insists on grabbing a taxi. She folds herself in first, without letting go of Elio’s hand. When the taxi pulls into the graveled court yard, Samuel is waiting.

Professor scrunches his nose, though he tries to keep his calm. Even a beta himself can smell the alphas on Elio. The hazel eyes doesn’t even dare to look up at his dear papa.

.

Up on the second floor, Samuel stands outside the bathroom, occasionally asking whether Elio is okay. Elio hears Mafalda muttering, ‘What was he thinking?!’ adding that she sure is gonna burn the clothes Elio came home with. Samuel calms Mafalda in his way-too-measured tone.

Once Elio showers for the third time, Samuel gives his only son 'an okay.'

“Do you want to have something light before you call it a night?”

Elio shakes his head quietly first, water dripping from his damp wayward curls, “…no, papa.”

Samuel fills his lungs slowly through his nose, “alright, tesoro.”

.

Elio stays up all night hoping to hear Oliver’s footsteps echoing in the hall way. He desperately needs to see the blond’s face. Even if it is just a glimpse of him. Or, or, just his scent. Elio does not understand why Oliver’s scent calms him, every time. Way better than the scent of his childhood home, the lavender and chamomile soap, his father’s coffee breath mixed with cigar. It trumphs Marzia's Patchouli.

Elio keeps pacing in his room. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Not enough–,

Not enough–,

Not enough–.

 _I want him to like me_. Back and forth. Back and forth.

 _I want Oliver to like me_.

 _I want him to know that I like him, that his scent calms me, that he makes me feel better just being near_.

 _I want Oliver to want me the way I want him._ Back and forth. Back and forth.

Elio mulls this thought so many times, he loses count. Maybe he unconsciously yet intentionally is putting himself through this. How impossibly ironic, Elio scoffs at himself. Because people say, if one utters variations of the same thing so often even a blatant lie is gonna start to feel real as if it is an undeniable truth, making his sorry-ass reality vaguely meaningless.

All ten of his fingernails are all chewed and beaten away. His thumb is seeping a very thin line of blood at the edge of his fingernail.

The omega then stops abruptly in the middle of his room. He swivels quickly on his heels. Elio determinately walks toward his desk and drags the chair with more force than he intended. He rather hurriedly pulls out a note pad and hastily fishes out his favorite ball-point pen.

As if he is downloading some divine message, Elio starts writing the words.

Of his wishes.

With clear and keen intentions.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Tower: Tarot, Major Arcana  
> ; the Tower Upright is a symbol for the ambition that is constructed on faulty premises. The destruction of the tower must happen in order to clear out the old and in with the new. The revelation(s) of truth or inspiration. An epiphany. The change in the most radical and momentous sense. By progression in the deck, it is followed by the Star card: a wish.  
> –Omega-trans: I borrowed this concept from BDSM lore. To give Omega!_Elio another memory loss. This time a good one. In this verse, only compatible Alpha–Omega pair can cause the Omega in a given relationship to slip into “trans” as a part of mating ritual. If it were a typical case, an actual mating bite probably was made by the corresponding alpha in a pair. But Alpha!_Oliver had decided a few months back, he wasn’t going to force Elio in any way, until the omega is healed. Especially, Oliver wants Elio to choose him with his full volition. Not by the chemistry.  
> –the paragraph starting with “Elio feels maimed and dirtied…,” is a spin-off of _Beloved_ by Toni Morrison.  
> –(fyi: I am not a neuroscientist btw *cheeky grin*) Elio’s dissociation is based on several research/reading I did of those who were victim(s) of trauma. Though the clear mechanism is unknown (some say protective mechanism, others say blockage of sensory input or refusal of input sensory info processing within neural network), the brain functions quite mysteriously for those with the past traumatic experience(s) by going into a type of so-called ‘black out.’ In this chapter, with the mixture with alcohols he chugged, Elio’s brain checked out after the moment he went, “uft, fuck it.”  
> .  
> As always, \Thank You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Do please remember to take very good care of yourselves: mind, body, and soul. I do mean it!


	8. The Niggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s side of Elio’s stupid decision day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**  
> .  
> Niggle  
> n. (British slang) a trifling doubt, objection, or complaint; ( _similar to_ ) gut feeling  
> 

**Chapter Seven. The Niggle**

Oliver is sitting on the rock—a small spot he came to call his own, down near the beach at the back of the Perlmans villa. He found this not-much-of-a-place place on the second day of his visit. He doesn’t know how he missed the squeaky crick of the wrought iron gate. Vimini just gathers her summer dress and motions to climb up next to Oliver.

“How goes Uliva–?” Vimini asks quietly with a soft smile, mimicking the nickname among house helps.

Oliver gathers that Mafalda must have started it. He doesn’t comment. He peels his arms and open up so she can sit beside him.

“I like how you smell,” Vimini comments casually, “I bet Elio does, too.”

Oliver hums.

“Did anyone tell you you have unusually bright blue eyes?”

Oliver fills his lungs. Two hold the space for a moment without any words. The warm yet soft summer breeze blows over them both, carrying the saltiness of the ocean. Oliver’s finger-combed hair sways lightly.

“A very dear person of mine used to call me ‘sapphire blue’,” Oliver tells her quietly.

Vimini simply blinks. It’s as if two are having a conversation at a distance. The speed in which they speak has a comfortable lag in between. And neither of them objects to how it is being carried on.

“Do you miss her?” Vimini asks folding her knees in to her chest.

Oliver’s head turn towards her direction with a little shock on his face. _How does she know?_ To that, Vimini just presses her lips together, holding his gaze.

“Will you miss me, too?” she says the question with a light tilt of her head, without a blink.

Oliver blinks.

._._._.  
On the fourth day since Oliver arrived at the villa, he was delightfully surprised by this young lady. Elio being an only child, Oliver came to conclude, she is Elio’s ultimate ‘sister from another mother.’ They were so close. The banters, the playful bickering, the care and love two have for each other, and the extreme closeness of how they flow together were incredibly beautiful to behold for Oliver. A slice of childhood he never had a chance to experience was happening in front of him. Oliver envied and rejoiced at each moment of them.

One thing led to another three decided to go down to the beach. Vimini automatically offered her hand to Oliver as if he and she have been doing this for a hundredth time. Oliver looked down at her open hand, then to her who was looking up at him. When she noticed Oliver’s lightly stunned response on his face, Vimini simply blinked with her expression of ‘well, what are you waiting for?’

Oliver opened the wrought iron gate with the hinge that has long been suffering the desperate need for some oil and grease. Vimini led the alpha, walking a half of a step ahead, her soft small hand encased in Oliver's gentle grip, Elio following them: a step behind, his hands shoved down in his pockets. Three talked, well, mostly Vimini. Her unabashed candidness surprised this newcomer. What a wonderful soul, Oliver thought to himself. He was flabbergasted to hear her speak of her more-than-likely death due to leukemia. How unaffected she appeared as if she understood the complexity of life and death and even in between.

“But… but…,” Oliver stammered, “you are young and smart. So healthy looking and–, and–.”

Vimini let out the most exuberant laugh. It was music to Oliver’s ears. How is it possible for such a young person to hold such a concept only Oliver read from the books? Oliver wondered. Stuff that a long line of philosophers and great thinkers such as Heraclitus, Nietzsche, Heidegger, McTaggart, Jung, and D. H. Lawrence wrestled about, Vimini somehow grasped them already, astounding, even being so very young; without having to learn or being trained.  
._._._.

Oliver pulls his arm around her shoulder in, hugging her closer to him. Vimini simply leans her head closer to Oliver’s chest. Seagull’s call echoes not too distantly, as another breeze passes through them. Oliver sucks in a breath slowly.

“Always and forever.”

.

**Pouring Rainy Day | Down at the Study | Crema, Italy**

_I hate seeing you like this. Please––, please come back to me_. Oliver screws his eyes shut hard. All he wants right now is for Elio to calm down. Have his logic and rationality back. It takes unspeakable amount of self-restraint, not to grip him too tight. To hold back his canines.

The fume of sulfur and astringent scent of burned ash begin to dissipate. But not the burned sugar/caramel. Oliver feels Elio’s body relaxing in his embrace. The dark curls is falling into the trans.

Elio, even going into his trans, pulls his arms in close. Defiant to his core. His right arm somehow makes it in between two men in tight embrace and lands on the broad alpha’s chest. Elio is visibly calming down. Still resisting mumbling, “let go of me,” but he is giving into the calm and being enveloped by Oliver. Primal instinct working their marvel. So the clinician was right after all. Oliver swallows hard.

Oliver whispers something into Elio’s ear and the omega's eyes roll back as if he is being hypnotized. A mixture of a person who is orgasm-ing and losing his consciousness put together. Nuzzling his neck and cheek against Elio, Oliver rumbles his chest lightly. Alphas don’t purr but they can resonate their chest cavity in a specific frequency to soothe and calm their mate.

Three other people witness this very intimate and private ritual play out in the open. Mafalda in the end turns around once she sees the reaction on Elio’s face. Samuel clears his throat nervously. Annella, on the other hand, smiles so lovingly, soothing her dear husband with a gentle brush of her palm.

Elio appears to have fallen asleep in Oliver’s embrace; his arms fully relaxed, his cheek perched on the blond’s clavicle. Elio looks so serene. And the alpha waits, still soothing him ever so gently, swaying only just, as long as he can to be certain of his precious Elio is totally asleep. Elio’s heartbeat steady, his breaths calm, even, and soundless. Only then, Oliver gently picks Elio up and is able to lay Elio’s limp body on the chaise lounge. The mountain of a man kneeling so quietly and so slowly.

Annella strides close to assist. Putting the couch cushions where Oliver is laying her dear son’s head. She cannot help but to feel so moved by witnessing Oliver’s care. Mafalda, too, disappears and comes back with a blanket.

“Mrs. P, please forgive me for being inappropriate,” Oliver sighs out the words quietly. So polite and well-mannered.

Annella fills her lungs slowly. Without words, she simply puts her palm on Oliver’s upper arm. Oliver, in turn, responds with a small smile.

.

**At a bar | Downtown B**

The place is filled with the mixture of smoke: cigarette, cigar, and joint. Oliver has one, too, at the corner of his mouth, his shirt buttons are undone more than usual. There is no face going, the place is stifling hot: even after sunset. The beer he has been nursing on is already luke-warm, sweating endlessly on its surface.

All afternoon, Oliver was feeling something uneasy, as if he ate something he shouldn’t; just like one of those days he had the leftover he should have tossed but sniffed at it before he went ‘meh’ and ate it. It started around noon. A discomfort right at the pit of his stomach like an itch he can quite scratch: kind of nauseating and sort of oozy but not enough to take any over the counter medication or fuss about.

After breakfast, Oliver biked down to B as usual, with the bundle of correspondence Pr. Perlman still insisted on doing in pen-and-paper: mostly, postcards. He passed on more pages of his manuscript to Signora Millani. The disquieting sensation didn’t appear to pass. So, he decided to skip lunch. Mafalda tut-tuted under her breath saying something about Oliver can use some more meat on him. He simply responded with a close-lipped smile. Manfredi taught him a few more words and expressions in his dialect when Oliver helped around with the husbandry he was doing at the old barn. Pro invited Oliver to join the conversation with three afternoon guests at the patio table. They talked about how the political weather change was resembling that of post World War One. Oliver didn’t hesitate to dispute and rebuttal. Samuel had a look of satisfaction, being proud and all knowing warm grin, of his summer intern.

“City college, you said,” one of the guest pointed out after being scholarly being schooled by Oliver.

Oliver was handed the business card and made to agree that he ought to contact her once his summer internship is over. They bid good evening.

“No dinner?” Annella asked.

Oliver offered his apology.

“Later–,” Samuel waved with a smile. His face colored with his generous understanding and a goofiness of mocking Oliver's curt American colloquialism. Though Mafalda and Annella re-asked in attempt to sway Oliver to stay for dinner. The fact that Pro appears to somehow understand Oliver is still new to him. But he can't help but feeling thankful of this unspoken comradery between generations; and of course, gender as well.

The blue eyes briefly hesitated whether to sit at his rock by the shore. Oliver hummed under his breath with a lopsided smile, ducking his head, as he heard the echo of kids playing in the beach. So he swiveled on the ball of his feet and headed toward B. Oliver took longer than he usually did. Too much thinking, the alpha thought to himself. The whole walk, he counted his steps. The unpaved road became cobbled stoned ones to asphalt paved roads then back to unpaved road. Oliver was glad the he didn't bike down, as if he needed to sweat his messy and jumbled head out through his pore. He bought a pack of cigarette from the bookstore. How this mom-n-pop establishment is functioning like a general store, Oliver couldn’t quite grasp. Yet he was glad the he could find this variety without having to go to M. I should hydrate, Oliver thought to himself. Yet, he didn't.

.

No, he doesn’t usually smoke and he is particularly not one of those type who gets drawn to tobacco products whenever he drinks. A round of cards gets passed around the table. Oliver flinches a bit. No one in the table pays attention. The blond sucks in a long drag from his black cigarette. The bright red ring ascends leaving a tube of burnt ash behind. The guy with messy beard tosses his card is when Oliver catches a revolting stench in his nostril. His stomach lurches. Oliver reaches for his cigarette and removes it from his lips. As he flicks the lowered cigarette on the tray, Oliver curls the tips of his tongue and flicks it between his upper lip and his left incisor. Something is not right, Oliver thinks to himself frowning. He reaches for almost empty beer and chugs the rest of its content down his throat. The alpha subdues his growl. It’s not me, Oliver gathers. What the hell are you doing, Elio?

Why Oliver jumps to that thought, he doesn’t rationally understand. But the blond is certain that the discomfort he has been having has to do with Elio. He reaches down to his phone. No, he tells himself off.

Ever since that heavy rainy day, even a few days before that, Oliver has intentionally been keeping his distance. The conflicting notions and contradiction within himself on what or how he should behave around Elio boiled over. Eight weeks, Oliver sighed sitting at his rock. The blue eyes did believe he could do it. He truly believed that he can be there for Elio’s recovery. Holding the space, in the name of summer internship. Oliver wholeheartedly believed that he could set aside his agendas and the inexplicable gravitational pulls towards Elio. That one day soon, he can tell Elio that he is the one Elio has been linked in soul-level. Because that same evening he carried Elio into his arms in that alley, Oliver found his slightly raised and long-been-arrested-from-revealing irritation on his skin changed. Once he sat down on a chair at the empty cafeteria of that private hospital after the commotion has settled and Elio safely in the hands of the experts, a little patch of skin between his triceps and biceps showed something that wasn’t there even a few hours ago.

Oliver raised his arm, at mid-torso level, his softly unfurled hand palm-side up. Then, it hit him. The blond’s unkempt hair falling over his fore head, Oliver’s lips parted with an inaudible gasp. Oliver ran his fingertips over and over. He couldn’t believe himself: _So it **is** you._ The voice I heard was yours. Despite feeling as though he just won the world, a keen sense of dilemma settled deep in him. Timing indeed sucked. At the same time, Oliver was overcome with the urge of rushing over to the police station just to savagely rip out those three perpetrators’ neck. For the most unspeakable crime they've committed against his mate, his soul-half. His blood boiled. The alpha clenched his fists hard to center himself, his jaw muscle bulging. Who knew the wretched training at the boarding school could be useful, Oliver huffed under his breath at himself. The irony was uncanny. Now long been second nature of breathing technique settled him back. Because the blue eyes could not afford to go into a blind rage rut. Justifiable but it was ill-timed.

He didn’t remember how many days later: the police, the hospital, and the constant communication with Elena to assure Elio’s care and his own anonymity. So when the Perlmans shared the news about his shirt and its effect on Elio, Oliver was surreptitiously glad. He did react, however, as expectedly by Samuel and Annella. And the alpha heard it. (He, yet again, reacted accordingly: shocked keeping his calm demeanor.) First it was the pair requesting the possibility of lending some of Oliver’s clothing to them. Then, it changed into a possibly blending his scent profile into a diffusor form. A widely accepted practice that has been done since early 2000s to placate existing male omega population. Of course, at first, the alpha declined it as it was the right thing to do.

“We understand,” Annella replied with a soft smile.

Call it coincidence but one thing led to another Samuel and Oliver had a chance to talk. “No, I’m not here to convince you, Oliver,” the professor began. And two men talked at the pavilion just outside the hospital. Their Americano (one cup of espresso and a hot cup of water) long forgotten, Oliver discovered that Samuel is _the_ Perlman he grew up reading about.

“How serendipitous,” Samuel mused.

And one thing led to another, Oliver finally agreed to become their summer guest. Well, I could use some time to sit down and get back to writing, was another reason for Oliver.

“Call,” the old German gypsy says, with a loud and extended burp: it smells like bratwurst and beer.

The bartender with deep v-cut with flaunting her double D scowls with a curse. To that, he slaps her curve butt cheek. She swats his hand in return. All of a sudden,

“Fold,” Oliver says, getting up, placing his cards face down.

Everyone’s eyes on the table follow the back of Oliver as he walks out to the street. Oliver fishes out his phone when a loud raspy voice bays, “you are not leaving?” And Oliver shouts back, “(not until I have your ass!)”

On his palm, the screen has Marzia’s contact information.

Oliver takes in a large breath. His throat waves. And he clicks his tongue before he presses the little receiver button at the corner.

_Trust your niggle._

.

“No, no, no~,” Oliver waves with his both hands, smiling wide, “I’ve already gotten enough out of you all,” tapping his shirt pocket that is bulging with a wad of cash. And he backsteps slowly turning down the guys' invitation to move to the next location for another game.

.

When the cab pulls into the graveled court yard, all the lights are out. He tips the driver well and he invites the blond, again for the fifth time, to their home for a family dinner. When Oliver is about to decline courteously, “yes, I know,” the driver begins, “Mafalda feeds you well already. Ciao~.”

Oliver knows the way around the villa like the back of his hand. So he walks to the back entrance so the motion sensor light at the front won’t light up, as it is at the line of master bedroom on the ground floor.

As he steps up the staircase, the blond senses something being a bit off. But he dismisses it as his physical sense being not his usual best almost all day. Stomach thing and all.

.

When he comes out of the bathroom, something that wasn’t there when he left this morning catches his eyes: a piece of folded paper on the floor.

Oliver wonders how he didn’t see that when he walked to his room just less than two minutes ago. He leans down and takes hold of it in his hand. The scent reaches his nose first.

Elio–

A mixed feeling overcomes him. He scoffs at himself, shaking his head a little.

Once his fingers open up the folded paper, Oliver pauses. The swell of cicada amplifies.

_Can’t stand the silence, I need to speak to you._

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Black Devil is a Dutch brand of cigarettes, currently owned and manufactured by Heupink & Bloemen. Especially popular amongst teen smokers, are sold in the following countries: Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria, Italy, Poland, Slovenia, Latvia, Russia, Spain, Israel, Myanmar, Taiwan, South Korea, Japan, and were formerly sold in Portugal.  
> ; I debated between chocolate and vanilla, for Alpha!_Oliver's choice. But since he can smell Omega!_Elio's scent when no one else can, he'd choose the one that complements his notes. Alpha!_Oliver is smoking the chocolate flavor. It's kind of his fetish. mixing the scent of Elio's caramel & cherry notes with it.   
> –The reveal of what Oliver whispered into Elio’s ear and his soul-mark will follow in later chapters. Namely, two years later in London UK. So please kindly hang tight, I humbly request thee–. *prayer hands*  
> .  
> As always, thank you for following along this AU, your time and interest.  
> No matter what, please kindly take care of yourselves: mind, body, and soul. Promise me, you won’t forget that.  
> 


	9. Pilgrim and Saint: What Is Meant to Be, Will Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The midnight, spinned for this AU fic line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**   
>  Non-linear narrative; _No_ penetrative sex happened during the summer between these love birds.   
>  [Spoiler Alert] this chapter is the beginning of this transcriber-me weaving in the adapted version of chapter three of _Find Me_. In other words, if you wish not to be spoiled, please–– *hand gestures with a little wink*

**Chapter Eight. Pilgrim and Saint: What Is Meant to Be, Will Be**

“…I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” adds Oliver softly.

Something is… different with him. As if something is prickling and teeter-n-titillat-ing at the edge of his consciousness with the persistence, something about him feels different: the pale fragility, somewhat depleted.

. 

**Mid-Morning | Eighth Week | Foyer near Staircase | Crema, Italy**

“Somebody had a good night?” Oliver asks coming down from the staircase.

As soon as the alpha’s voice lands in Elio’s ear drum, the hazel eyes feels like he is going to melt. Though he positively hates himself for being like this, Elio cannot help but to swoon. _It’s been too long_ , Elio thinks to himself.

The blond missed the breakfast this morning, yet again. Even for that short hours between the breakfast till this very moment, it bothered Elio so much. And he was in a very juvenile mood for not being able to see him. Thinking things like, ‘now you are completely ignoring me,’ ‘why can’t we be even that much civil?’

Then, quite gruffly, the dark curls becomes so self-conscious about himself. Elio turns his head a little to take a whiff of himself as unnoticeably as possible–to make sure he is not still reeking of all those alphas he hung around with. As the alpha swiftly passes him on by, Elio catches the faint alcohol breath mixed with his minty toothpaste.

Elio hates this; he hates the fact that Oliver isn’t even looking at him. No matter what he does, Oliver wouldn’t give him what he wants. Or say what he wants him to say.

Defeated, he trundles himself up the stairs as if his legs are weighing a ton each. His shoulders hunched, his lower lip pursed, pouting. On the way to his room, Elio even bothers to kick the floor, where there is absolutely nothing he would unwittingly fall or stumble over with. Another giant sigh escapes Elio’s sad face.

 _Maybe Marzia was right,_ Elio thinks to himself, dumping out his chest, reaching for the knob of his door, _I’m so pathetic_.

.

Elio, finally, is able to breathe properly once he closes the door behind him. Elio sighs as he leans his back in such lethargy against the door. What did he mean?

 _‘Somebody had a good night?’_ echoes in the dark curls head in Oliver’s voice over and over again.

Elio is so happy Oliver spoke to him. Even if that was just a friendly greeting to the summer host’s son, the hazel eyes is feeling relieved a little. Maybe he didn’t see my note I slipped under his door. Maybe Mafalda found it first and tossed it in the trash as she did so many times with the past guests whom had the tendency to toss down scribbled notes of their transcripts and manuscripts. _You’re pathetic_ , Elio sighs to himself.

His shoulders hunching, Elio decides to grab his multimedia player. Then,

The note he tore out early, very early, dawn is on top of his notepad. The omega rushes to his desk. But he pauses. His hand hovering just above its surface. What if he just returned it? Meaning something in lines with ‘I found this on the floor; it’s probably yours,’ with his usual _Later!_ Dismissing it like a childish antic not even worth his time?

Carefully, Elio lifts it open. God… it carries the scent of him. And Elio gasps. Under his messy scribble of ‘Can’t stand the silence, I need to speak to you.’

_Grow up, I’ll see you at midnight._

.

**Present day | same day as Chapter One (chap2 by AO3) | London, UK**

“puta–, madre–! Oy!”

Elio doesn’t remember how long he has been standing in that corner of the shop. Diego tersely clicks his tongue while rolling his eyes.

“Elio–!” Diego snaps his fingers in front of the hazel eyes’ face, in his thick Spanish accent.

The dark curls only recalls that everything was like a reflex. He turned around as soon as he saw Oliver walking out of the handmade stationary shop, a couple of store before where he is supposed to meet Diego. His back is still flat against the corner wall of the store front.

“We’ll going to be late!! ¡Dios mío, ayúdame!,” Diego urges cursing in Spanish a bit more.

“errr––, yeah, yeah, sorry,” still dazed, Elio peels himself off of the wall and takes in a meaningful breath before he takes a step. There is a minute tremble rippling in his body.

“What happened to you? you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” asks Diego, bending his head down with a quizzical tilt of his head, as Elio’s eyes are on the pavement. Elio fills his lungs determinately. Then, He looks up.

No Oliver.

The movement of his chest ceases. A blink. As if Elio saw an impossible mirage in the middle of a busy streets of London, there was no trace of Oliver in the streets. He suddenly feels disoriented and empty at the same time.

_Did I dream him into being?_

.

Diego has a takeout tray that is meant for four: all just for him. It always amuses Elio how he is able to carry them without much difficulty—two fluffy coffee flavored sweet drink things: one slushy form, one hot, one water in ice, and one rainbow colored something. Elio carries his bottled water between his index and third fingers, in a loose hook, dangling at the end of his comfortably extended his arm. Around the corner, two walk. It doesn’t take long to arrive at where they are supposed to be for the rest of this afternoon. Signing in is not that difficult. The usual student ID. Signature. They are told that there will be another singing thing at the end to make sure. Once they step in from the ground level, as Diego's preferred second tier is full,

“You know I much prefer––,” Diego care-freely starts, walking down the aisle.

“yeah–, yeah–,” the hazel eyes says quietly in a very neutral tone and Elio steps in front of him to take a seat as Diego parks his butt happily on the aisle seat.

And as Elio takes out some of the stationaries thinking he’d doodle or transcribe, his mobile chimes loudly.

“You better mute that or they will kick us out. And it will cost me one credit,” Diego grumbles sipping on his slushy latte thing, almost rolling his eyes.

“It’s Z,” retorts Elio, gnawing at the inside of his lower lip, putting his phone in mute.

“Oh, how’s our sucio doing?”

Elio just chuckles low under his breath, shaking his head lightly, and thumbs against the surface.

The mushrooms of chatters that have been bouncing against the high ceiling auditorium begins to die out. As if some sound engineer has finally set down with his freshly brewed cup of coffee and is turning down background noises. The usual mic testing/mic-check sound registers to every attendees’ ears. Elio is still thumbing up something on his phone. Diego occasionally glances to peek what Elio is reading/watching so intensely.

The host gives the general prompt of etiquette, asking people to turn off their phone or put in mute. No recording or pictures as this will be recorded by the event organizers. Diego nudges his elbow on Elio and the dark curls mouths, “alright, alright,” and tucks his phone in his pocket.

“Good afternoon. I am very pleased––”

Elio hears Diego complain in Spanish something in lines with “let the circus begin.” The hazel eyes only huff quietly. Having been to plenty of similar occasions though the subjects have been so different from one to the other, Elio has mastered the art of zoning out. After his fifth wingman duty, Elio even stopped asking what kind of subject they would be attending. So, as the dark curls has done many times over, Elio keeps his head down and opens his composition book by grasping it from the top with his four fingers. He briefly considers shoving earphones but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he abandons that fleeting thought.

But for some reason, the seminar opener’s introduction lands in Elio’s ears. Like a key word search. Pre-Socratic. Book about Heraclitus. Taught in Paris. Hm. Elio hums internally. His eyebrows making an expression of mild interest. But the dark curls stays as is. His eyes on his notes, tuning all the sound out.

“Now, please welcome with big round of applause,” her voice is so filled with admiration and a giant smile.

Oddly, Diego nudges. Elio turns his head with scrunched eyebrows, looking up at him. Diego with his lips locked on his sweet-sweet drink, simply tips his head signaling for Elio to look. A frown on his face indicates Elio doesn’t understand. Diego, this time, arches his eyebrows higher, his eyes moving up towards the same direction as his curiously tilted head. Elio fills his lung as if he is saying, ‘what’s the big deal?,’ then turns his head begrudgingly. Immediately, his jaw drops. And he forgets to blink or breathe.

“I see you didn’t find the weather an excuse enough to miss this seminar. Or the credit matters that much? Good afternoon,” the familiar booming voice echoes warm.

Oliver–

.

**Mid-night, Two years or so ago | Eighth Week | Balcony on the Second floor | Crema, Italy**

Very moment Elio sees Oliver’s broad back, —this mountain of a man standing there, waiting for him— the whole day worth of anguish in waiting for the midnight to arrive just miraculously dissipated into thin air. No, scratch that. It was almost eight weeks of whirlwind of emotion he battled countless times and then some, over and over. And over again. Him trying to find things to do, overthinking, overanalyzing, hoping to catch a glimpse of Oliver or a word the alpha carelessly toss into the ether in passing or in jest. Elio remembers every moment he strained to preoccupy himself so he’d stop thinking, wondering, daydreaming about Oliver. And immediately––, Elio shakes his head, rather viciously. _No, don’t be so melodramatic, Elio, you were cooped up in bed, asleep half the time_ , the hazel eyes chides himself.

Though the particular day, Elio had to invent various ways to somehow manage his anxiety of this _midnight_ invitation. Because when the omega looked up at the clock on the wall, with his returned note in his hand, it was disinterestedly pointing its two hands denoting barely ten in the morning. Even that damn clock mocks me, Elio thought.

After the initial shock waned, Elio found himself being filled with instant yearning and dismay. Did I want this, now that something was being offered? And was it in fact being offered? It sure did read like an invitation. A rush of wave after wave of mental gymnastics the hazel eyes had to sort through overcame him. Pacing back and forth: back and forth.

Should I answer his note? No, no, you can’t answer an answer!

As for the note: was its tone intentionally light, or was it meant to look like an afterthought scribbled away minutes after jogging and seconds before breakfast? A time span no one really cared to sit down and ponder deeply. Of course, Elio didn’t miss the jab at his operatic sentimentalism, the swat of irony or jaunty _Let’s get together tonight and get down to basics and see what come of it._ Did he mean that he is going to school him of how a grown-up should at midnight? Where are we going to meet at midnight? Would he find a moment during the day to tell me where? Why midnight? Who ever picks midnight? And when is exactly midnight _midnight?_

And then a terrible panic seized him: is this midnight going to be something to simply clear the air between us and go on our separate ways as we did for the stretch of time that felt like eon?

Elio wanted to go back to the moment of that initial shock. And maybe start over. Come into his room, grab a book, accidentally catch a folded note, recognize it, and open-n-read then go, oh, okay, midnight then. And go on about my day. Ughhh––, Elio messed his own hair. Just as frustratingly, he grabbed his phone and stormed out his room.

The day went as Elio expected. Oliver found a way to leave without letting anyone know in the house. The Perlmans, as usual, didn’t appear to be concerned of Oliver’s whereabouts or interested in what their summer guest was doing. As long as Oliver did his portion of light work Elio’s father wished all his summer interns to do, there was no need. To Elio’s surprise, Oliver came back to villa sometime after lunch and happened to pass by the hazel eyes. No words, no hint of acknowledging him walking by. Fuck, Elio spat in his head. This was another one of their let’s-not-speak-to-each-other days. Vimini, who liked to watch people play at the court yard or the beach, did not come today. Elio debated about calling her but decided not to. Because what if she was having one of those bad days? Would I be able to fight the urge to go to her house, and sit by her bed and strum guitar of her favorite songs, to soothe her to sleep? I will be torn, I will be distracted. Am I being selfish?

.

He is still wearing the same button down shirt. This time more buttons are undone, showing his chest and skin. His Star of David: reflecting the light. A stainless steel wrist watch. His hair, fringes falling over his brow while the rest is swept over and back by hand, is showing streaks where his long sturdy fingers passed through.

The direction of wind changes. And the first thing Elio notices is the cigarette smoke. It has a distinct scent. On top of the usual smoke of tobacco, tar, and nicotine, the sweet milk chocolate aroma is mixed in it. Elio cannot help but to blink, quickly. Because the dark curls clearly recalls Oliver declining Samuel’s offer of cigarette or cigar. The next thing the dark curls notices is..., on the rail of the balcony, a small family heirloom crystal cigarette tray is almost half-full. Oliver’s sleeve is bunched up. Untidy. Very un-Oliver.

Elio can see Oliver’s fuzzy forearm hair. Defined muscle lines. A large handsome hand with a black cigarette in between his index and third fingers.

“I thought you didn’t smoke.”

Oliver slowly cocks his head, and a little pause before he says, “I don’t,” and his piercing blue eyes calmly meet Elio’s.

At the moment, everything slows and turns black and white in Elio’s eyes: like one of those film noir scene. Only the bright blue of Oliver’s eyes and the faint thin red line of ring on the alpha’s lit cigarette remain in color.

“…I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” adds Oliver softly.

As if something is prickling and teeter-n-titillat-ing at the edge of his consciousness with the persistence, something about him feels different: the pale fragility, somewhat depleted. For some strange reason or another, the blond's composure appears somehow made softer by fatigue. Or is it something else?

The dark curls doesn’t know what to say. So he reaches for that black cigarette between Oliver’s fingers. To Elio’s surprise, Oliver lifts his hand and deftly turns it around for Elio to take it easily from his fingers. His heart is beating so hard his eardrums are booming in his head. It feels disorienting. The chocolate flavor is stronger than the smoke he inhaled earlier. Elio cannot help but to grin.

“…what~?” Oliver asks quietly, mirroring Elio’s smile. His face expression soft and rather enigmatic for hazel eyes to tell what Oliver is thinking, right at this moment.

Elio exhales the smoke to the side, blowing it away, to opposite direction of Oliver. Then, he shakes his head lightly first before he begins to explain.

“It’s just unexpected. I didn’t think you’d be smoking this kind of cigarette. Let alone a flavor like this.”

Oliver huffs. Then, a light pause follows, “do I always look like someone who is square and boring?”

“Pffttt––,” Elio raspberries his lips, without meaning to, letting out a genuine laugh, “ _You_ said it. I didn’t.”

Two playfully nudge their shoulders together.

“So,” says Oliver.

“So,” Elio parrots.

The next thing that happens is something that Elio didn’t even imagine that could happen. Oliver takes in a measured but long audible breath. And he carefully takes hold of Elio’s hand into his palm and gently turns it over. The fingertips of his other hand softly land on Elio’s open palm.

He draw his fingers open over Elio’s fingers. All of them. Slowly. Oliver’s hand caresses Elio’s long fingers. The dark curls tries his best not to tremble as the blond carries on tracing his fingertips over and on Elio’s hand.

“hm, pianist’s hand,” Oliver breathe-whispers the words, ever low and so tantalizingly.

Elio catches Oliver’s lips move. He can’t tell what he is clandestinely saying, inaudible soliloquy. So, he lowers his head ever so slowly, his gesture ‘I wanna know whatever you are saying right now. I wanna hear it out loud’ written all over. And edges of the blond’s parted lips softly tips up catching Elio’s louder-than-words wish in motion. Oliver flinches his eyes a little, still not looking up at Elio, his fingers drawing deft lines on the dark curls’. The alpha sucks in a breath and,

“… If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,” Oliver says low, his thumb now tracing a gentle line on Elio’s palm, slow, “my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Elio’s lips part. _Shakespeare._

The omega can only blink. His head goes completely blank and he feels dizzy as if the air around him has thinned. And all he hears is the thump-thump of his heart. Oliver tucks his chin a little closer to his chest. _Why does it look like he is chiding himself?_ Elio thinks to himself. So, he goes:

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much.”

To Elio’s surprise, the alpha’s head lifts and his blue eyes, bright and with surprise, meet his eyes.

“Which mannerly devotion shows in this,” Elio recites, aligning his fingertips at where Oliver’s fingers and his palm meet, “for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands to touch,” and he draws tiny circles on the webbing flesh there, while Oliver’s gaze follows every minute movements, before all five of Elio’s fingertips slowly extend, “and palm to palm is hold palmers’ kiss.”

Two hands, fingers open, palm against palm, are together. Tell me you feel this, too. Our hand on hand, skin to skin, me you, you me. Then, Elio reaches his other hand and brings up Oliver’s opposite hand. The alpha’s eyes trails after Elio’s motion. And as the tips of dark curls fingers’ lead Oliver’s hands to bloom as their other united palms, the blond says,

“Have not saints lips, and hold palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim,” Elio smiles, satisfied of the very reality of their two pairs of hands being suspended in such incredible touch and its union, “lips that they must use is prayer.”

Oliver subdues a moan gliding the skin of his gently extended fingers against that of Elio’s, and interlaces them, ever so slowly. The tension and a little more than he’d hope impatience flowing over the rim of his body, though the blond doesn’t show it, he is struggling to contain them. Reveling on its delightful torture, treading ever so lightly. The alpha quietly fills his lungs and gives their finger-laced hands a deliberate steady squeeze, “o, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

Elio tilts his head to the side, his eyes glazing over with the same emotion Oliver is feeling.

“Saint do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake,” and the omega rolls his lower lip between his teeth.

Oliver shudders, muffling a swear word, “they move not, while my prayer’s effect I take,” and the alpha pulls their interlaced hands to his body, leaning forward, “thus from my lips, by yours.”

Their parted lips _finally_ meet; Oliver sucks in a desperate breath, pressing his mouth over Elio’s—guiding their woven hands up towards his neck. Elio’s body arches up pliantly closer towards Oliver’s chest as he takes the cue from the alpha. Once their hands land on either side of Oliver’s neck, he unfurls his fingers from Elio’s and circles his hands over the dark curls’, as if to say, ‘keep them here.’ The omega smiles as he turns his head to the other side, still kissing Oliver back. In turn, Oliver wraps his hands on the side of Elio’s ribs and draws a possessive thick line up-n-around Elio’s mid-back. He hugs the omega in tight. As if Elio just abandoned all his restraints and rationality, his splays fingers and cups the alpha’s skull, seeking Oliver’s tongue. Two kiss and taste each other's lips and tongue, on and on; tilting their heads in sync left and then right.

They don’t want to part. But they are running out of air. Reluctantly yet just as desperately, two separate with a juicy kissing sound, panting with a satisfied smile. Elio runs his fingers on Oliver’s nape. In return, Oliver nuzzles his nose on Elio’s and whispers rapturously, “my sin is purged.”

Elio leans his forehead onto Oliver’s, “then have my lips the sin that they have took,” catching his breath.

Oliver growls low, squaring his jaw with a smile, “has anyone tell you you are incredible?”

Elio huffs once, through his nose, with a ‘what-say-you’ on his face. The blond sway-rocks their body lightly, sighing out his shudder. Elio threads his fingers at the back of Oliver’s neck and pulls his torso away from the blue eyes, his unruly curls clinging to Oliver. Their eyes meet and Italian summer night breeze runs through them. Oliver’s throat waves, limitless adoration pouring out of his eyes. And the alpha brings up his hand through the space between Elio’s arms. His thumb traces the omega’s lower lip.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged.”

As an answer and an invitation, the hazel eyes licks Oliver’s thumb pad, only just with the tip of his tongue. Oliver dumps out his chest with stuttering breath and recites, “give me my sin again,” breathlessly.

.

 _I can’t believe this is happening_ _._

A flash of images passes on by, it’s quite disorienting.

Elio’s hand holding Oliver’s hand.

_Solid, steady, warm, mine._

Oliver’s hand… your hand–– holding mine, in a firm grip.

_Heavy, dizzy, light-headed, mine._

Oliver’s scent…Your scent–– while you lead me to your place.

Oliver’s broad back.

They are walking. _We_ are walking.

I am walking.

Blink, blink, blink

Elio feels his throat getting dry and taut, as his heart is beating right under his throat.

Might as well be running.

_Heated cheeks, racing hearts, mine._

Everything feels like an out of body experience.

 _This is real:_ I’m not dreaming.

Blink, blink, blink

.

As soon as Oliver turns the knob and push-opens the door, Elio somehow feels his body beginning to tense up a little.

_Is it because this was my room? Or… is it because I’ve been here when he wasn’t?_

A stolen glance, the familiarity, the overwhelming scent of… all that is Oliver hits Elio hard and he jolts awake with a surge of desire he never knew he could feel. Everything comes back to life, with its glorious full spectrum of colors. All heightened, enriched, refreshed, and amplified in a way the hazel eyes has been wanting for a very long while. He does check himself on feeling the strange sense of invigoration. _Invigoration?_ _What the hell am I thinking?_ he chuckles to himself, making sure Oliver doesn’t notice.

.

He was sure he was completely lucid and feeling wide-awake. The invigoration and all. Yet, Elio doesn’t remember how he and Oliver came to sit on the side of the bed. Their thighs touching so close, the side of their upper arms pressed together. Elio feels amazingly close to Oliver. As if he could melt into him like this. Elio finds himself playing footsie with Oliver’s softer city folk feet.

“…What are you doing?” Oliver asks quietly, with his chest rumbling so gorgeously.

Elio shakes his head first before he says, “nothing,” sheepishly.

Elio heard about alphas running hotter than other genders. The only alpha he has known is Marzia and she always runs a temp or two hot. But… this––. Elio sighs through his nose. Sitting this close to Oliver, his scent this much near and strong, the dark curls thinks that he cannot keep his poise any longer.

“Does this make you happy?” Oliver asks quietly.

Elio just nods. Yet he can't seem to do or say anything.

And the very first thing that catches Elio’s drifting gaze is the origami jar. Oliver follows Elio’s line of sight and… goes softly, “oh––,” before he reaches over to the bedside table and bring it over between them. The alpha sucks in a slow audible breath. Elio only blinks.

“This is… uh… it was a gift from my mother for my 11th birthday. It’s a long story but… it’s one of few things I have of her.”

The hazel eyes looks up at the blond carefully. Oliver smiles but Elio can tell that it is a sad one. Though the alpha’s cheek muscles rise, his piercing blue eyes are not smiling.

“…I’ll tell you about my past one day but… she passed on a few years ago,” the blue eyes adds softly.

Elio gasps inaudibly. And Oliver catches Elio’s bright hazel eyes quiver. The blond can’t understand how it is possible for a pair of eyes can hold such a number of emotions.

“…I’m so sorry,” Elio offers quietly.

This time, it’s Oliver who shakes his head side to side, gently, without words.

To Elio’s surprise, Oliver tilts his head and leans his cheek on the dark curls’ shoulder. His nose deftly burrowing on the crook of his neck and the shoulder. Elio subdues his physical jolt and hears Oliver's rumble. So so gorgeously low. But Elio can feel that Oliver has yet to fully lean in. As if he is not supposed to. As if it is something that the alpha couldn’t even fathom to be allowed. The hazel eyes swallows hard. The next thing Elio feels is Oliver’s sturdy and fuzzy forearms snake against and around his waist. This time, Elio feels something else. Something totally different, entirely. As if the blue eyes had done this before. Countless times. As if to say, I missed you so.

For the life of him, Elio doesn’t understand what came over him to push himself up to straddle the alpha. On his lab. Threading his fingers into Oliver’s blond hair. Digging his fingertips just enough that makes Oliver’s head to lean back and along the movement of the hazel eyes’ fingers swim.

Elio basks in the stunning moment of... Oliver’s eyelids’ subtle movements as they flutter-close; with only-Oliver’s long guttural sigh. Positively low in just the right pitch and in absolutely perfect reverberation. Then, the alpha’s large palms press firm on the small of Elio’s back. A delayed slow splay of fingers. Just enough pressure for the omega to arch his torso up against Oliver. As Elio wraps his folded arms on the back of Oliver’s head, the dark curls' racing heart is greeted with the blond’s nose and breathy open mouth. The breath so warm that could fog up the whole pane of glass.

“god–––, you smell so good,” says Oliver rapturously, his voice muffled on Elio’s vintage t-shirt.

Elio gasps urgently. And everything comes to a screeching halt. Oliver’s strong splayed fingers hesitate against the hazel eyes’ mid-back. The blond also feels Elio letting loose of his forearms from the back of his head.

“…don’t,” Oliver pleases quietly.

Elio pauses then rests his elbows on the blond’s shoulders, gently on each side–weight barely there. To Oliver’s surprise, Elio’s left palm begins to brush the messed up hair falling over Oliver’s eyes. And Oliver slowly looks up at him. His sapphire blues are greeted with straight yet unwavering hazels globes, looking down.

No blink.

Not urging but trusting.

Still quizzical.

Oliver’s lips fall open and he takes a meaningful gasp, as the alpha presses his fanned out fingers again. This time, from the either side of Elio’s slender waist. Elio feels the heat of the alpha's palms wrapping his torso tight. Wanting. Desperate. As if he is trying to persuade Elio of something.

After taking a what-seemed-like-a-life-size breath, Oliver swallows eloquently and begins. A slice of his past no one has been ever privy-d.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –¡Dios mío, ayúdame!: _Spanish_ dear god, help me  
> –Romeo and Juliet: the first certain tale this well-known Old English literary work descends from Italian author Masuccio Salernitano (1410-1475). Published a year after his death, Salernitano’s 33rd chapter of his _Il Novellino_ tells of Mariotto and Giannoza, a pair of lovers who come from the feuding families of Magnelli and Saraceni respectively. In this account, their love affair takes place in Siena, Italy rather than in Verona and is believed to have occurred contemporary with Salernitano’s time. Luigi da Porta in the 1530s wrote a similar compilation, telling the tale in the Verona (not Siena)–the same place where Shakespeare would locate it.  
> ; yes, I have watched (and watched and re-watched, and again) not only all three major production movie versions of _Romeo and Juliet_ but also the one very nicely made LGBTQI+ version. If you are interested, let me know, I shall point you to the right direction.  
> .  
> As always, I greatly appreciate you for reading, your time and interest.  
> Please stay safe and healthy: mind, body, and soul.  
> Wish you all a fabulous week!  
> 


	10. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The midnight continues and it’s not what Elio had in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**   
>  –Non-linear continues, as too, weaving of _Find me_   
>  ; *flight captain announcement voice* Ladies, gentlemen, passengers, and patrons, please continue to fasten your seatbelt or hard left to click ‘X’ or the ‘BACK’ button. Thank you for your cooperation. *cheeky grin*   
>  –No bumpy, rumpy during summer: this comes later. How good, I cannot guarantee since I must strive to do a better job each time I transcribe those scenes.

**Chapter Nine. Revelation**

**Present Day | Inside of Government building-ask office (same place at the end of Chapter One)**

The heather grey fedora hat is taken aback at the abrasive tone of the guy who swung open the wooden door.

“Two years later, I’m still cleaning up your mess.”

“Good to see you, too, Richman. It has been a while.”

“Oh, save your pleasantries, Hatsche,” the two-to-eight-divided-n-combed-over guy scorns, “we are being summoned.”

“We?”

Richman rolls his eyes, and intentionally shoulder bump passes him by. The heather grey suit tempers his sigh before following Richman behind. They get on the elevator that appears to be 1920s design but the panel is beyond-high-tech.

“Tie,” Richman says low, without looking at the heather grey suit.

Hatsche wordlessly acknowledges as his hands automatically reach up for the top of his shirt. His fingers move articulately to fasten the top most button. And he straightens his shirt collar and his shoulders. He then moves his palms down over his vest. The elevator tings and miraculously the heather grey suit has a tie, neatly centered and tucked under his vest. Richman walks on first. A half a step behind, the heather grey suit follows him.

Once two men reach at a door, Richman pauses;

“You know the drill. Only speak when you are spoken to. And I hope you are not fucking this up.”

Hatsche only squares his jaw without any response.

.

Inside the opulent office filled with an executive wooden desk and other furniture has the decor resembles that of 1920s, Hatsche and Richman stride on in. The man who appears to be in his 40s and wearing brown suit only bothers to glance up without acknowledging them. He is literally buried in a mountain of paper stacks. Though neatly, almost OCD level neat-n-square, he is quite busy on putting his signature with one of the most luxurious fountain pens exist in human history. On his desk, a crystal clear custom made name plaque sit in the center: K. Donaldson. The heather grey suit and 2-to-8 comb over sit themselves down respectively in the two chairs that are angled so perfectly facing Donaldson’s direction.

"How could our Path-analysis miss this?" one of Donaldson’s eyebrow rise.

McFarrian, Donaldson’s assistant, just shakes his head, mystified.

The brown suit fills his lungs and finishes marking up the pages. Then, he holds his pen sideways and takes a moment—giving off a sense of him showing off—before uncapping the cap. Donaldson leans back on his leather chair as he flips his pen to put the cap on its right end. Hatsche and Richman stay seated without much movement. The brown suit places his pen at the left corner, aligning just so next to his ruler and blocks of stamps.

"The disciplinary rules require me to demote you in rank and re-assign you to a less desirable post," says Donaldson, as he fingers the document he just signed, "I'm going to interpret those rules loosely. Because I feel the deck was stacked against you."

"Sir?"

"The intense chemistry between, the constant inflection points, and the kicker of course: you pulling them apart only to have chance put them back together. Thrice. That seemed impossible. So I asked McFarrian to do some research this morning, which he just completed," and he passes the folder across the table.

"It seems that these two were meant to be together because they were meant to be together."

"Excuse me?" Hatsche asks with a bit more than mildly surprised look.

"I said ‘ _were_ ’; as in the past, as in an earlier version of the plan. Actually a dozen earlier versions. God know how many artifacts pushing them together are left in the current plan."

"Why was it changed?" Richman asks leafing through the findings.

"Something important. They went from ‘ _meant to be together_ ’ to ‘ _big-fat_ - _red-letter denied relationship_ ’ in a single Plan revision a few years back. As for why, specifically, that's apparently above even my pay grade."

"So does this mean we are going operational?" Richman asks, a hint of excitement in his voice.

"No, we sure do not. _No one_ ever made it to my job by taking stupid risks."

"Then what are––," the grey suit asks but doesn’t get to finish his inquiry.

"We're going to kick this case upstairs to someone with the latitude to clean up this mess without breaking into a sweat."

"You mean Thompson?” Richman says his name as if he is a rockstar he has been admiring, “Are we even allowed to go to him directly? He's a Senior VP."

"Exec VP," Donaldson corrects him.

"Isn't he the one when he was in the field, his nickname was–," Richman’s adulation cuts short.

"'the Hammer?' Yes, He'll crush this romance with the flick of his hand. And he'll thank me for giving him the opportunity."

Hatsche’s jaw bulges as he keeps his composure and expression in check.

.

**Mid-night | Eighth Week, Two years or so ago | Elio’s Old Room | Crema, Italy**

“Huh…,” Elio notes quietly, thinking to himself, “what a combination.”

Having never known he does have scent, Elio doesn’t know how to process this information. Licorice, caramel and dark cherry. Hmm, he mulls those ingredients in his head, slowly, again and again. It sounds like some confectionery. He must have made some faces. Oliver lifts the hazel eyes' head by placing his gently curled fingers under Elio’s chin. Even though the alpha tells him that it is mild and just right, the dark curls has a mixed feeling about _his_ scent profile.

At the same time, he isn’t sure whether he is feeling astonished or shocked by (and of) the fact that Oliver can (and has been able to) smell him. And that it was passed down from his mother. An alpha who has something very unique that happens to be the ability to recognize the hazel eyes’ physiological defect. A super power? Simultaneously, the omega is wondering what other _assumptions_ he has been making against the blond, having now informed of _from whom_ the jar of origami was gifted to him. Elio feels ashamed.

The whole time, though it may be short moments, Oliver studies him.

“Ehrr…,” Elio begins trying to find the right words, “I uh… .”

The sapphire blue eyes glint reflecting the faint light source of the room: soft and kind. It makes Elio feel as though he can tell him anything. Yet he is super nervous. Oliver gently runs his thumb pads on the hazel eyes’ skin.

Elio puffs one of his cheeks and gnaws at the other end of his lower lip, “I think um… I think I owe you an apology.”

Oliver tilts his head, though his eyes are still pouring out the utmost adoration for Elio. The look and the gaze the omega wanted see from the blond all along. Acquiescing, receptive, and open. So he sucks a determined breath through his nose and launches into slightly a long winded apology. Once Elio is done confessing,—him stopping in without permission while the room was unoccupied—Oliver simply chuckles, not reacting much.

“What~?” Elio’s eyes traverse over Oliver’s gaze trying to figure out why the blond is not surprised or upset about his intrusion, and then it hits him, “oh, wait.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything or try to explain, as if to let Elio process his own train of thought. The omega’s jaw falls open. At that, Oliver hums quietly with a closed lip grin.

The dark curls' face goes still and he goes, “you knew I was in your room. You were able to pick up my scent that I was here.”

“Mhm hm.”

“Oh my god–,” Elio blushes, burying his face into his hands, “I’m so fucking embarrassed right now. God–,” and he tries to wiggle out of Oliver’s embrace.

The alpha presses his palm on Elio’s mid-back a little firmer to convey he is not letting hazel eyes off of his lap.

“I found it quite refreshing,” Oliver curves in his torso to have Elio look at him, “you being quite brazen and all. Spying on me.”

This time, Elio brings up his forearms and tries to cover his face under them, muttering swear words into his skin in Italian.

“Hey…,” the alpha coaxes, with a wide earnest smile, “hey…,” his voice unbelievably warm and breezy.

Elio wonders how Oliver is able to convey, ‘will you please look at me? there is nothing to be embarrassed,’ with just that one word. That is the moment something dawns on the dark curls; that Oliver’s chest is rumbling in a very low frequency. Wait, it has been like that the whole time. Ohhhh–, this is that famous alpha rumble I read about, Elio thinks to himself. It is really seriously soothing. And he senses a strange familiarity as if this isn’t the first time he felt Oliver’s rumble. Gosh–, this is…, this is so good, the omega swoons in his head.

“You’re blushing,” Oliver says softly.

“No, I’m not,” Elio replies with a fleeting little pout.

The blond gives an amused, disbelieving yet all-knowing, and ever-so-tender glance, “are you sure?”

Erghh, his voice, Elio thinks to himself, and his body stutters as if his entire being is melting with the sound of Oliver’s voice. The omega’s throat waves. The hazel eyes feels that he is grown-up enough to admit that his cheeks being flushed pink with excitement he never knew he could feel. Yet two do not say anything, as Elio waits for a few seconds before he _finally_ gives in, “I guess I am, aren’t I?”

The notion of his body is betraying himself is terrifying and amazing at the same time for Elio, as he is trying so hard but failing gloriously to keep his composure. This close, sitting on his lap, the very alpha he so wanted and desired all summer long. Eight weeks. Or maybe even before that. Elio fills his lungs, then a blink, gathering in all the inputs right at this moment. Everything is surreal: this person looking up at him as if Elio is the sun and the moon and the star. And to know that this wonderful alpha has the ability to smell him is absolutely, superbly, and positively _delightful_. Another sudden insight floats up inside him. No, it’s more of a revelation, that no existing words can possibly describe, hits him like a huge tidal wave.

I am _seen_.

I am _no longer invisible_.

For him, I haven’t been invisible.

All. this. time––

All the while, the defiant side of Elio doesn’t just wish to relinquish so easily, no matter how perfect this alpha is. So he goes,

“You’re blushing, too,” points out the omega, somewhat coyly, tilting his chin to the side a little, his gaze still locked on Oliver’s.

Without a tiniest movement, Oliver’s lips, only his handsome lips, part and Elio is greeted with the widest smile he’s ever seen on his alpha’s face.

Immaculate, the hazel eyes thinks to himself, taking in the all American golden boy smile.

“…I know,” Oliver answers softly, with a slow loving blink.

Elio can tell Oliver, too, is nervous. And the omega wishes that his alpha would feel less ill at ease. Will you stop tip-toeing around me? I’m not a porcelain doll, you know. Oliver just chuckles low, his gorgeous booming tone rumbling so close to Elio’s skin. The bass laughter that resonates through the alpha’s body and his skin can only be described as exceptionally gentle. Like light drum beats. On top of _his rumble_ the sensation is incredible. Elio consciously starts to gather that he is relaxing a little more of how comforting all this is to him.

To his surprise, Oliver’s hands find their way down and gently yet intently cup Elio’s skinny round butt. The dark curls tries not to react but Oliver can see it in his eyes. Unexpectedly to Elio, Oliver gets themselves up off the bed. The omega sucks in a sharp breath, winding his hands tight on Oliver’s nape. The alpha lets out a subdued growl between his teeth as he keeps a happy smile on his face. Elio leans forward, his cheek on Oliver’s cheek, feeling glad that the temperature of the blond’s skin is just as same as his own. Then, Elio pulls himself closer to this mountain of a man, climbing up a little to wrap his legs around Oliver’s waist. This time, it is better than the clumsy hug Elio did when he hurled himself on Oliver’s lap, a few minutes ago.

Elio can hear Oliver filling his lungs: a slow, measured, thoughtful long inhale. And the alpha places one of his palms on the omega’s mid-back. A firm, reassuring gesture, lingering it there.

“I want us to kiss,” confesses the blond, as he exhales so euphorically, “may I kiss you?”

What a question. We just kissed less than a few minutes ago, Elio wants to josher him. Yet, it somehow throws the dark curls off his balance a bit further. And he tenses up, making Oliver to pull Elio in, closer. And the omega can feel Oliver, too, feeling out of place, awkward because of how his body reacted. Why his body is reacting with such determined vigor without him intending to, the hazel eyes cannot quite understand. Because that’s not what he is feeling now. In fact, it is totally opposite of what he is feeling. Because the hazel eyes' head has been buzzing with massive yearning. I’d like to burrow myself into you. Open you up right in the middle and nestle deep, your heart right against my ear, my hands gently holding it in my palms: _Your_ beating heart.

The warm palm on Elio’s mid-back tenderly runs down to his lower back. Oliver cups Elio’s glut only just, before he runs his gently cupped palms on Elio’s upper thighs. As if to say, why don’t we let go? So gently. So lovingly.

Elio takes in a slow long breath and quietly peels his legs off of Oliver’s waist; one leg at a time, while Oliver’s hands find their way to Elio’s waist. The dampness built between their cheeks clings to them. Every inch of him indeed is screaming not wanting to let go. I don’t want to let go––. As the hazel eyes uninjured leg lands first, he tucks his chin to his chest. His curls caressing Oliver’s face. Elio feels the alpha’s fingers right on his chin. Lightly curled in. Lifting his head up, coaxing. Let me see you. Elio obliges. When his gaze meets with Oliver’s, the dark curls lips part, taking a tiny gasp. It’s a sight–a twinkle in Oliver’s half-lidded eyes. His long golden lashes casting low. Elio has never felt this before: being desired this much, wanted this much, craved this much. I am seen. He sees me, the omega repeats to himself. Warm breath ghosts over each other’s lips. The alpha is baiting him. And Elio is reveling on it. The deliciously sweet tension. But Oliver knows who the patient one of the two is.

May I please kiss you? the blue eyes asks quietly again. And this time, despite his body’s reflex and his messy brain, Elio is able to respond with his rational brain. So he nods. Once. then, twice, then several times more after, with his arms still wrapped around on the alpha’s shoulder and the back.

Without closing this almost there distance, the blond ropes his arms tightly around Elio’s mid-back, wrapping him in closer to his body. As expectedly, a shuddering breath escapes the hazel eyes. And the blue eyes hears Elio growl low with impatience before he surges up and presses his lips against Oliver’s.

The hunger, the desperation, and the passion pour out of them both. Two reciprocate in same desire and the want and the need. In complete sync. Elio grazes his teeth over Oliver’s lower lip and the alpha growls. The edge of omega’s lips quirks up as he carries on kissing and tasting Oliver’s lips.

The taut grip of alpha’s open palm on Elio’s back spreads around the omega’s mid-back, then to his ribs, back up to between the hazel eye’s scapulae. It feels amazing. Not too tight. Not too strong. Elio feels being adored and appreciated. And the dark curls reaches one of his hand over to the back of his neck and takes hold his shirt.

“Don’t,” Oliver mutters softly into Elio’s mouth, still kissing.

Elio’s throat waves. He can’t hide he feels half-stunned, half-baffled. And when he is about to wonder whether that was Oliver’s way of shoo-ing him away, Elio feels Oliver hands roaming down to his sides.

When the blue eyes' strong fingers find their way under the edge of his t-shirt, they fiddle so warmly, bunching them up over the alpha’s wrists.

Oliver takes off the hazel eyes' shirt, taking his time. Elio lifts his arms up, elbows first then his forearms, over his head, at the same speed as the blond lifts his hands and the dark curls’ vintage t-shirt.

Elio’s hair clings to the fabric until Oliver pulls it completely away from his head. And rather quickly, the hazel eyes crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his arm pits. Left one under his right. Right one under his left.

Oliver chuckles low, lovingly.

“What~? I’m all sweaty,” Elio grumbles with a little pout, feeling self-conscious.

“I did tell you how much I love your scent, remember?” Oliver coaxes softly, nudging his nose on Elio’s cheekbone. Elio’s head tilts up, his lips seeking Oliver’s lips.

“Will you let me wash you?”

“Wash… me…?” Elio’s eyebrows arch. Confusion? Concerned?

Oliver nods quietly. And he can see the dark curls studying him. His eyes darting lightly. Oliver waits patiently. There is no need to rush. I’ve spent eight weeks. A few more moments like this is basically nothing. Elio’s face makes many different expressions. With a final determinant blink,

“…together,” Elio tosses quietly.

“mhm~?”

“I will let you wash me, if we shower together,” Elio says it quickly, screwing his eyes close.

As an answer, Oliver presses his lips on Elio’s closed eyelid.

Alright.

.

Oliver hands two towels for Elio and two for himself. A fine work Mafalda does each day. The scent of lavender and chamomile. Then, the taller one steps into the booth first as he turns the knob. His hand outstretched comfortably on the refreshing stream from the shower head. Once the temperature is where he wants it to be, Oliver offers his hand out for Elio to step in.

“How do you–,” Elio tries to say something, feeling awkward.

Instead of an answer, Oliver gently takes hold of Elio’s shoulder and turns him so both can stand facing each other.

As he did a few minutes ago, Oliver places his softly curled finger under Elio’s chin, making his head tilt. The water soaks his curls nicely.

“Keep those wonderful eyes open,” Oliver requests quietly, his voice so doting.

Elio nods twice as an answer.

Oliver mindfully runs his hands over Elio’s hair under the shower, making sure all of his dark chocolate curls are generously wet. Then, he reaches his arm, without looking away, and grabs the shampoo bar. Between his palms, Oliver rubs at it until the liberal amount of bubbles are formed. And he moves closer to Elio, counter-clockwise, making Elio to take a couple of side-steps away from the shower stream. With the shower beating down on Oliver’s shoulder and his pectorals, the blond kneads the freshly prepared suds into Elio’s hair. Avoiding his eyes and ears. So gently. So lovingly.

The way Oliver’s fingertips knead and rub against Elio’s scalp makes him feel so relaxed. All the while, he is watching Oliver’s every move. Up close. How his eyes move, the slow yet steady cycles of inhale and exhale, the way his muscles and tendons move.

He is indeed a movie star, Elio thinks to himself.

Once the blue eyes is satisfied with the shampooing, he side-steps clockwise this time so Elio’d be back under the shower stream.

“Keep your chin up,” Oliver says quietly, placing the edge of his palm on the very edge of Elio’s hairline on his forehead, so the soapy water won’t get into Elio’s eyes.

All this careful, tender gestures somehow brings up Elio’s early childhood memories. The very first memory of him taking a bath. I was probably one I think, Elio reminisces in his head.

Strange thing is that Elio doesn’t feel out of place. Being naked in front of Oliver like this. Though the excitement and wonder are prominent, Elio finds the blue eyes' care peculiarly soothing.

When the taller one is satisfied with rinsing the hazel eyes’ hair, Oliver reaches one of his hand down to take hold of Elio’s wrist. And he places Elio’s palm on his own left chest. Oliver sets his jaws, his gaze unyielding at the mildly bewildered look on the dark curls' face. As if to say, this beats for you. Only you can make me feel this way. And…

You can trust me. I will never ever hurt you.

Feel this? This is the proof.

The edges of Oliver’s closed lips tip up just a little, in a small smile, to assure Elio. Then, his palm gives Elio’s hand on his left chest a light tap to say, keep ’em here. As a response, the hazel eyes’ chest expands to its full capacity.

Oliver then moves onto grab the loofa and repeats the similar process of making fresh suds with the body-soap bar.

“Mafalda loves you,” Elio mutters playfully.

Oliver just chuckles quietly.

They don’t know how long the whole shower took. But it was an incredible experience for both. Oliver towels himself first then carefully dab the plush towel on Elio’s skin.

“Don’t you dare carry me bridal style to bed,” Elio warns with a pointed look, though he is clearly smiling wide.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Their own second towel wrapped around their waist, Oliver leads Elio back to the bedroom. Their penises rock hard and in high salute.

At the edge of the bed, Elio fidgets, his hand still holding Oliver’s. The dark curls feels Oliver turning around on his heels and the alpha’s curled fingers under his chin.

Their eyes meet again.

For some odd coincidence, their eyes turn into half-moons with smile lines at the end.

Like two ten year-old boys, they drop their towels and splits to the either side of the bed and vanish beneath the blanket. Playful laughter and mock-fist punching, two are on their sides, facing each other under the linen sheet.

Oliver fills his lungs first.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

And Elio brings his arms close to his chest, bent at the elbows, his forearms together, edging up his face closer to Oliver. In his eyes, demanding endless gentling and attention.

Rapturous sigh escapes from Oliver before he presses his lips over Elio’s parted mouth.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –this chapter is one of those ‘via visual and sound, it is less than three minutes’ scene. There is a subtle part of Elio’s PTSD bubbling up. And Elio doesn’t know Oliver is his soul-mate. The reason, why omega!_Elio doesn’t, lies within the plot element of fedora hat guys.  
> –Believe it or not, the nickname of the exec VP was actually that. I didn’t have to make it up to fit the CMBYN extended verse as I did with alpha!_Oliver’s birth last name. hahaha  
> .  
> As always, \Thank You/ for coming along for this AU ride, your time and interest.  
> We all are living in the wave of an unprecedented time. Please do remember to stay safe and healthy: mind, body, and soul. If not anyone else, kindly keep in mind that I’m always cheering for you.  
> 


	11. Being Held and to Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new normal of summer for Elio. But his trauma still hangs on to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-linear continues, so too the adaptation of both book-canons. Reader discretion is advised. *wink wink*   
> 

**Chapter Ten. Being Held and to Hold**

**Present day | same day as Chapter One (chap2 by AO3) | London, UK**

_It’s a summer's day._

_You are sitting under the sun;_

_–your eyes closed softly, your head tilted up just so,_

_soaking up the beautiful rays of sun_

_–in a place I've only visited while I was with you._

_I must have stepped on a twig._

_You open your eyes and turn your face towards me._

_You extend your hand to me_

_–a stunning smile blooming on your face._

_And I see my hand reaching out to hold yours._

_I'm with you…but I can’t be with you._

_I know I'm dreaming._

_But I desperately want it not to be._

Oliver wakes up with a gasp and the clock on the night stand denotes 3:33AM. Oliver tilts his head back and runs his palm over his face.

.

The venue manager is talking so animatedly with Oliver’s assistant. As this seminar being selected (?) as a part of Master Class, — along with for Institute of Continuing Education (ICE), History Channel, Timeline, and BBC Three — the arrangements are quite different from the usual ones this late twenties young professor has done. ‘It’s uh…,’ Oliver chuckle-sighs under his breath in disbelief, putting a pause on his stream of thoughts, ‘…more theatrical.’ He takes things in. It is less than two years that Oliver accepted the position at Cambridge. The dean of his current department insisted and pursued Oliver as if he is the only academic who could fill the position. “You have the look, you have the voice, and you are the best seller,” the dean said during one of many Skype calls.

Today, Oliver is asked to stay behind the stage and enter from the opposite side of where presenter is to stand and introduce him. The academic version of hype-person. Having asked to come two hours early to have the camera rehearsal was disturbingly bizarre experience. Oliver was briefed that his seminar will resemble that of a cable network special. There are five cameras, including the one that will capture him up close. (camera-on-shoulder or camera-on-foot the female beta AD said.)

“Ah––, you have the look and the voice of a movie star, professor,” the Assistant DP touts in passing with a wide grin, as the sound guy is making sure the blond’s microphone being in sync.

Oliver cannot help but to laugh. What are the odds? He thinks to himself. The words his current dean said in the past are somehow being emulated back to him, at the moment Oliver is recalling them in the privacy of his own head.

The sound guy waves his arms at the sound booth, when Oliver reads few sentences from the prompter to test the mic. The staff presses a button on his lapel with a scowl, “you can’t be serious. Pro already has enough low range. What are we? Copycatting Darth Vader here?”

For a two-hour-or-so seminar, all this seems way too much. But, Oliver is aware that when he signed the contract to teach at the Cambridge, he is bound to do these types of extracurricular activities. Granted, this one indeed is…

“Professor~!”

“Please–, just Oliver,” the alpha offers soft smile to the female first AD.

The gal blushes, “please we need you back here to make sure that your slides and videos are in order.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Oliver acquiesces with a kind and humble smile.

.

By the time, they go through the final preparation of how things should and shall go, Oliver sure feels he is heavily run down. Easy there, Oliver. Cheap puns have their places. After the Q & A session, I am to hold a book signing. The blond is told to expect some folks who are not attending this seminar. To Oliver, it is still surreal to know that the academically dense read of his very first book is in its third mass print.

When the rising (?) star professor is given a quarter of an hour, as a break, he grabs a bottled water and rushes out of the staff entrance, rather quickly. And exactly three minutes before his quarter of an hour being up, Oliver comes back with a small brown bag. And for some reason, he decides to save the pastries for later. Because something strange is pulling him and the niggle is telling him to ‘ _take a look_.’ So the blond peeks his head out from the back of the stage. Very unusual of him. As he has never gotten any stage fright, nervousness, excited, or overtly curious about the crowd. The blue eyes reasons that the over-the-top hype of all these production stuff is getting to him. He quietly tsks under his breath.

The second floor is almost full. People are still coming in and out. Small plumes of conversations are going on. The jumble of voices are converging and clashing, bouncing off of the high vaulted ceiling of this place. Then,

Oliver’s mouth parts with inaudible gasp. His eyes wide, face expression abruptly and completely goes still.

Elio–

.

**Next day | Two years so ago | Crema, Italy**

Elio didn’t want to fall asleep but he spent too much energy (and his cogs) yesterday anguishing over the midnight. When midnight actually came, he was caught in the midst of contradicting and ironic emotions while his body took a liberty of helming on its own. Of which Elio still has trouble understanding why he reacted the way he did.

After Oliver and he showered together, they just laid under the sheet, facing each other. And something else completely unbelievable happened. The blond’s fingers found their way on Elio’s skin and touched the hazel eyes in a way no one else in this world has done. As if the alpha was trying to map the omega’s body; one fingertip width at a time. It was so gentle they almost hurt. It tugged at Elio’s heart. The dark curls didn’t understand why he was feeling that way. The oddest thing was that, simultaneously, his touches were extremely arousing. The hazel eyes felt himself leaking. So he inched closer to Oliver. And the alpha took it as a permission (while Elio was trying to hide his physical response) and glided his nimble fingers down and around his abdomen. Oliver hummed tracing his fingertips along the firm shaft of Elio’s. The dark curls’ inner thighs jerked. As no one ever touched him like that before. The blue eyes nuzzled his nose before gliding his lips over to the shell of Elio’s ear. Oliver whispered something and it sent shivers down the omega’s spine. Without a moment to process this sensation, Elio’s body was wooshed with the piston motion of Oliver’s grip on his cock. Something unrecognizable escaped through Elio’s lips as if someone has punched him hard in his stomach, though the dark curls tried his best to subdue orgasmic version of Tourette’s. The blond quietly let out a low hum of amusement. Then, he parted his mouth and licked the shell of Elio’s ear before capturing the earlobe into his lips. The way Oliver twirled the tip of his hot moist tongue while sucking on that small flesh of the hazel eyes’ made Elio spread his fingers wide against Oliver’s chest. All ten of them. And just as automatically, all his toes fanned out, his knees bent a bit more and he bowed his body in, his stomach hollowed inward.

“That’s it,” Oliver whispered so sensually, “that’s it, baby, let go.”

Elio’s head was spinning. And all he could think was the desperate need for Oliver’s lips. So, the dark curls rather hastily peeled his palms from the alpha’s chest and reached for Oliver's face. To his relief, the blue eyes was responsive to his clumsy gesture. Elio’s fingers took hold of Oliver’s skull as his lips sought after the blond’s lips. The omega breathed the alpha in with a bit of frenzy. It earned him what Elio now came to mark as Oliver’s sexy growl. The alpha was just as aroused and just as happy; of beholding his omega wanting him that much, of witnessing how he could make the hazel eyes this way.

“God–, you feel so amazing, Elio,” Oliver praised him, “your cock fills my grip so well,” and he began to increase the speed.

Another type of indiscernible expression escaped Elio’s mouth. This time into Oliver’s mouth. Elio clung to him, sucking at Oliver’s lips, moaning and whining. The omega’s head completely went blank, he thought he saw stars when he came in Oliver’s hand. Panting, disoriented from a high he didn’t know he could feel, Elio felt his body limp. The next thing that happened was out of this world. The alpha nudged the hazel eyes’ heaving shoulders over and climbed atop of his body, his grip still pumping along Elio’s erection: the cum and all. With a deliberate juicy slow evocative kiss, the blue eyes hovered down south and started lapping up. _Fuck_ –, was the only word went across his head. And out of nowhere, he found himself reaching his hands down and threading his fingers into Oliver’s shower-damp golden locks. It was a moment of the preconceived notion on 'how an alpha-and-omega pair’s sex life ought to be' going out the window.

Elio could not tell how he knew. But he kneaded Oliver’s scalp with his fingertips, looking down at his head. His nineteen-year-old body reciprocated to the blond’s eddying tongue and became hard again.

.

His thumb pad on Elio’s cheek bone, Oliver stroked the omega’s hair. It was after the third one. The last one, particularly, was truly amazing. The alpha had both their erections in his grip, his index finger in between their cocks. Elio caught on the rhythm as Oliver guided him to match their climax. His lips on the alpha’s upper lip, breathing out hot exhales, they came together.

“You are making me fall asleep,” Elio managed to murmur, feeling his eyelids heavy.

The alpha simply hummed with a closed-lip smile. His face saying a wordless, ‘which you should.’ And he leaned closer and pressed a kiss on the hazel eyes’ forehead. Elio protested with a mumble that he didn’t want to go to sleep.

“I’ll be right here,” the alpha whispered, pulling him in close.

Elio, who no longer could keep his eyes open, folded his arms in and burrowed his body into Oliver’s embrace. Of course, the alpha was rumbling his chest. The vibration and the low sound floated Elio soundlessly into dreamless sleep. Their legs tangled, Oliver’s nose buried in the dark curls' hair, two slumbered in each other’s comfort.

When Elio woke up, he found himself drooling on Oliver’s shoulder. Oh, god–, this is embarrassing, Elio thought gathering himself and wiped his slobber with the back of his hand. At that moment, the alpha stirred. The hazel eyes paused, his eyes widened. And only thing moving was his eyelids. Every cell of his body came to a halt. The blond didn’t move any further. Oh, good, Elio sighed to himself, I didn’t wake him. And for a while, the omega just admired the blue eyes. How much he wanted to be this close, how toasty his body felt against him, his long golden eyelashes, his very alpha mandible, the tendons running through his neck: so defined and so immaculate. And the lips. The very lips that was on mine. The re-runs of them kissing on and on, over and over, flashed before his eyes. Elio’s cheeks suddenly started to blush.

“You’re gonna put holes in me with that,” Oliver said low with his sleep-laden voice.

Elio grimaced screwing his eyes shut, flinching in his shoulders a little. But he was happy. It has been a very long while he didn’t have a nightmare or crazy exhausting dreams. And he was glad that the AC unit has the heat sensing mode so neither he nor Oliver had to get up in the middle of the night, to turn it on. Buck-naked skin-to-skin indeed was seriously powerful. The blond rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and his index finger. Elio tipped his head up and pressed his lips over on the blue eyes’. Oliver simply moaned low and long, folding in his other arm on which Elio was resting his head.

The morning went without a hitch. Oliver went for his usual morning jog while Elio stayed in bed. About a half an hour later or maybe more, the hazel eyes dragged himself out of the bed and went to the bathroom. He heard the door open and shut. And Elio discovered that Oliver speaking to the jar of origami as if his mom was here. The alpha was wiping his chest with the running shirt he just took off, when the dark curls came out after flushing the toilet. The blond tipped his head mouthing, ‘good morning, sleepy head.’ Elio headed toward him rubbing at his eyes, his rough bottomed feet sliding lazily on the floor. Oliver extended his left arm as he carried on talking to the jar about how the scenery of his morning jog was. He wasn’t even shy about it; even introduced Elio to it. The omega blinked at the jar and raised his gaze before blinking once more, wrapping his arms around the blue eyes’ warm and sweat sheened body. The alpha simply made a face expression of ‘well~?’ So, with a bit of hesitation, Elio said hi and blubbered out something that he felt appropriate. Oliver pressed his lips on Elio’s temple, hugging him in.

After coming out of the shower, Oliver stepped into Elio’s trunks. The omega’s mouth fell open. No one would have given it another thought since everyone was always swapping suits in their summer villa, but that was the first time Oliver had done so. And it was the same suit Elio had worn the day before. Watching him wearing his own clothes was an unbearable turn-on. And the blond knew it. The thought of the alpha’s cock rubbing the netted fabric where his had rested reminded Elio of the last night.

They went down to the patio table and saw the surprise on both Perlmans’ faces. Elio kissed his mother on the side of her neck while professor said something in lines with, ‘someone had a good night?’ Mafalda brought out the usual breakfast fair and Elio insisted he’d be the one to crack-open the soft boiled eggs for him.

“(Call it a celebration),” the hazel eyes tossed, throwing a playful jab at Oliver’s indiscretion of missing quite a few of having meals with them.

“(Rightly so),” Annella softly agreed with her son.

Under the table cloth, Oliver slipped his foot under Elio’s, as he casually took a spoonful into his mouth, with a knowing grin. The silver utensil captured inside his mouth: the same mouth that has been everywhere last night. Elio fidgeted in his seat, feeling his cheek heating up. And– and–, the city folk feet: no callus, no bumps, baby bum smooth. It made the hazel eyes feel like they were snuggling. In feet version. Oliver’s intention was clear. He was not allowing Elio to forget what had happened a night before. And for some reason, a story of married chatelaine came to his head. Unlike that story, Oliver and his union was open-yet-not-really-open affair. And all four people simply accepted and agreed on the pair’s progression without exchanging a single word.

*

He hates this. Elio is standing under the shower. His lips tinted in blue, he can hear his own teeth chattering quietly. He tries to hug himself in. The sensation of him burning up is now gone. And he can breathe now. Elio dumps out his chest. He hasn’t a faintest idea of how and why his body is reacting the way it has been. There is no warning; there is no sign. One minute he is perfectly fine and completely relaxed, the next the back of his eyes sting with massive disorientation and his ears ringing with throbbing migraine. Then, as if someone has lit up a towering pyre of logs, his chest feels tight and his body temperature soars. Why he is resorting it to cold shower whenever his panic attack overcomes him, he cannot quite understand.

It came over him unexpectedly, yet again, right after he came back from his little bike ride up to a local pharmacy. He overheard Mafalda saying something about she running out of some things and he volunteered to get them for her. Oliver has left with his father early this morning to attend one of casual meet-n-greet at the archeological site they recently visited.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Samuel asked again, when Elio got up with a triangle toast with apricot jam in his mouth. Elio shook his head and kissed the side of his neck to assure him.

There is a set of knock on his bathroom door. Elio doesn’t recall locking it. And he assumes that it is Mafalda. The hazel eyes doesn’t recall whether he excused himself before rushing up to his room. He probably didn’t. Another set of knock land on his ears.

“Mafalda, I’m fine,” Elio replies, he doesn’t want to be pestered. Well, she worrying doesn’t help either. It’s his way of ‘leave me alone.’

“It’s me, will you let me in?”

Oliver–

Elio gasps, blinking rapidly. I thought–, but the meet-n-greet is supposed to last–, when did he come back? What time is it?

The omega squares his jaw, screwing his eyes shut. Come on, focus, Elio. Yet, the dark curls considers for few more moments, bringing his upper lip in between his teeth. A part of him badly wants to. The thought of finding Oliver standing there on the other side of his bathroom door elates him. And once the hazel eyes’d unlock the knob, Oliver would pull him into his embrace and he would feel safe: at home. But the other part of him doesn’t. He feels weak, worthless, and pathetic. His alpha hasn’t been gone a while and look at it. Elio lets out a shuddering sigh and it disrupts the strings of cold water trickling from the tip of this nose.

Elio almost slips but he catches himself, though it feels like he pulled a tendon or two around his hips. Somehow he manages to remember to turn the shower off and grab a towel from the linen closet. His taut with chill hand reaches for the door knob. But his fingers flinch in hesitation. Elio hears Oliver taking a breath. The hazel eyes grits his teeth and wills his hand to turn the knob. With a light click, the door ajars. And Elio’s nose is greeted with the wonderful scent of Oliver. His body trembles like a balloon deflating slowly in increments. He takes a step back and the alpha walks in with three lines between his eyebrows. Elio’s nostrils flares, his lips turning into a frown line. The blue eyes tilts his head with all the worry and concern plastered on his face. And a rush of the jumble of emotion overcomes him. The omega’s chin quivers as he tries to hold back his tears. So Elio hurls his body forward, plastering himself against Oliver’s chest and clings to his open-collared shirt. The alpha’s arms encircle the omega, securing him in close and tight to his body. A muffled sob works its way up from Elio’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Elio clutches a fist at the back of Oliver’s shirt, “I’m sorry.”

Oliver fills his lungs and nuzzles his cheek on Elio’s temple, “I’m here,” he breathes the words quietly, “I have you.”

.

When he wakes up, he finds himself lying in bed alone. A sudden panic starts to gurgle up from inside. He fists up the sheets, blinking fast. Right at that moment,

“Hey, glad you are awake,” and Oliver leans his body to the side enough to grab the tray he brought up from the kitchen. Elio gathers that Oliver must have put the tray down so he could open the door.

The omega hurriedly gets up off his bed and rushes to him. Where were you? I thought you were gone. I thought everything was in my dream. It takes Oliver by surprise. Yet, the blond kisses the unruly curls on top of Elio’s head. And the hazel eyes presses his cheek further on Oliver’s chest. The alpha skillfully maneuvers himself to walk them into Elio’s room, with his arms stretched out to his side, holding the tray with fixings.

“Mafalda made one of your favorite soup,” Oliver says in encouraging tone of ‘you’re gonna like this.’

Elio simply shakes his head in ‘I don’t want it’ and tightens his arms around Oliver’s waist. The blue eyes simply fills his lungs and mutters ‘alright’ quietly under his breath. He looks around the room and spots Elio’s drawers. Once the alpha puts the platter on top of it, he brings in his arms around the dark curls’ body. Elio smiles against him, dumping out his chest through his nose, as if he has been holding his breath. Oliver lifts his head and the contour from under his chin to neck tucks Elio’s head nicely and exceptionally impeccably. The alpha hums.

“What?” Elio mutters into Oliver’s chest.

“A perfect fit.”

It is Elio’s turn to hum in joy. The anxiety begins to dissipate from Elio and Oliver is glad to notice. The alpha is running his palm along the omega’s back, ever so slowly. Though the way Oliver calms him is nowhere near the definition of patronizing or coddling, heaven's forbid nor pacifying without truly meaning it, the omega cannot help but to feel like a sulky pouty child. He turns his head and buries his nose between the open collars. The thatch of fuzz on his chest is lightly damp with sweat. Elio nibbles his lips over them. Oliver chuckles through his nose. And the hazel eyes lifts his head, so does the alpha. Well, it's more like the blond is letting Elio's head to lift his an accurate way of describing the taller one's reaction. Now his lips is on the blond’s throat; his nose under the soft flesh of his lower jaw. He smells so good, Elio coos to himself. So, the dark curls begins to kiss the blue eyes' skin, not forgetting to add kitten-like lick with each press of his lips. Elio feels Oliver’s chest reverberate with a hum. It is absolutely gorgeous. Emboldened by the alpha’s reaction, Elio starts to paw at Oliver’s shirt, threading his hand inside the opening, and begins to lay juicy kisses on Oliver’s chest, down to his sternum. Elio registers his head getting lightheaded: the good kind. He closes his eyes as he unbuttons Oliver’s shirt buttons and breathes in the blond a large lungful thinking, ‘I can do this all day.’

“No, no, no, no,” says the alpha, grabbing Elio’s shoulders, and stops him from kneeling down.

“Why?”

Oliver looks at him with ‘you know why.’ Sure, the incident happened a couple of months back and it definitely passed the caution period of giving his body enough time to heal. However, Oliver feels Elio’s body is not ready for sex-sex. Plus, he doesn’t want to replace one trauma with another, even though his intention towards Elio is clear. Tricky thing how the mind works. The blue eyes is well aware of its danger. Just like one substance addict replaces their addiction with another, Oliver doesn’t want their sex to be tainted in such way. Not to mention, his body’s normal cycle needs to realign to his natural state. One false move in the name of passion can send Elio’s body down into a spiral, if what Oliver learned-n-researched is right. Because there is more than likely chance that Oliver could trigger a heat in Elio, of which it’d never be a good thing. A road he cannot go down, as holding back the desire to have Elio all to himself is already hard enough. His incisors send a sharp tingle up his skull; Oliver swallows hard.

Elio stands there with a disapproving look. Oliver clicks his tongue and mutters, ‘alright, then,’ under his breath. The alpha envelops Elio into his strong arms and pours fervent kiss on the omega’s lips. The dark curls' eyes fly open in surprise. Then again he reciprocates back as if it’s a second nature for him, with just as much passion. The omega may have grinned while thinking, ‘victory,’ with an exclamation mark.

“What are you doing?” asks Elio breathlessly, noticing himself walking backwards, _away_ from the direction of his bed. I thought you are taking me to bed.

“Giving you what you want.”

“What~? But–, we are not–, this is not–, what are you–, Oliver–,” protests Elio, blushing and subduing his glee while being bewildered at what Oliver is doing.

Elio finds himself standing in the frame of his bathroom door. Though gentle, Oliver appears so determined. And the blue eyes fishes his fingers into Elio’s boxer shorts: two to be exact. The tip of Oliver’s lips quirk up. And he slowly pushes his hand down. 

“Oh, god–,” Elio gasps out.

Oliver hums with a satisfaction. Then, he says,

“Take your trunks off,” ever so low with the air of command.

With his lips still plastered on the alpha, Elio manages to wiggle himself out of his shorts. The alpha guides Elio’s hands and extends it one by one, keeping their gaze locked. The omega’s gaze studies him: half in anticipation, half in escalating arousal. What happens next, Elio cannot believe his eyes. He finds himself looking down at the top of Oliver’s golden locks as the alpha kneels in front of him—finding a slow kiss path after another. The way Oliver’s lips kiss his skin feels as though he is being branded. So Elio releases his hold from the door frame and reaches his hands down for Oliver.

“Nuh-nuh,” a muffled ‘no’ rings from the alpha, "keep your hands where they are.”

And the rest is history. The nice slurping sound and the immaculate sensation of Oliver’s grip and his massage. Elio indeed is in heaven.

.

The next few days, Elio becomes well-enough to join Oliver on his morning run. Well, the hazel eyes has been looking for any excuse to spend as much time with the blond as possible and his leg feeling better is a more-than-welcomed change. He lags behind and Oliver doesn’t mind keeping his stride to that of Elio’s. Today, they decide to go down for a swim. ‘What? Not the ocean?’ Oliver asks looking behind his shoulder after realizing Elio is going the other direction. ‘I wanna show you something,’ and the hazel eyes hops on his bike. Oliver huffs under his breath with a lopsided smile before he too got on the bike.

Once they arrive, Elio tosses an offhand but excited, “Andiamo, americano,” and runs to the fresh water shore. His bicycle thrown sideways carelessly over the overgrown wild plants and dirt. It’s scarcely past six o’clock, and the fact that it was so early gives an energized quality to their jaunt. Oliver leans his bike against the tree before following him into the water.

“Uftt, it’s freezing,” the blond points out, lifting his foot.

Elio turns around with a wide smile. The water comes up to their calves. The hazel eyes slushes the water as he walks back towards Oliver. He tips his brows with a distinct look of ‘do you need a hand?’ with a lopsided grin. The blond kicks up his foot and the splash of water lands on Elio.

“The spring is in the mountains,” the dark curls swivels his torso and points his finger to the direction, “the Alpi Orobie. The water comes straight down from there. I come here to escape the known world.”

Oliver bends down and dips his open hands into the water. And he muses how clean and clear the water is.

“This is my spot,” Elio continues with his arms open to the side, “All mine, I come here to read. I can’t tell you the number of books I’ve read here.”

“So you like being alone,” Oliver remarks mildly.

“No, no one likes being alone. But I’ve learned how to live with it.”

“Are you always so very wise?”

“I’m not wise at all. I know nothing, Oliver. I know books, and I know how to string words together. It doesn’t mean I know how to speak about the things that matter most to me.”

“What things that matter?”

Elio looks him straight in the eye for a moment, summoning up his courage, “you know what things. By now, _you_ of all people should know.”

Oliver lifts his chin a little, taking a breath through his nose.

“Hmm, you still feel that way about me even after the past few days?”

Elio lifts his eyebrows with a low hum, “dunno,” he shrugs, glancing up at Oliver through his casted eyelashes as if he’s stealing a forbidden glimpse.

The alpha tilts his head with a warm smile before he says low, “I like the way you say things.”

“What?”

“The way you speak about the things that matter,” the tips of the blond’s closed lips ascend only just.

Elio feels his cheeks heating up so he splashes the water towards Oliver. And they end up challenging each other on a race. Of course, even the deepest part of the berm is about Elio’s bellybutton. The blond leads ahead. So Elio catches up with Oliver by grabbing his ankle and the alpha sinks under water. Once he recovers, coming above surface, and sees Elio swimming ahead. The blue eyes smile and palms his face, kicking his feet under water. He hears Elio taunting him. Cheat!! Oliver shouts before he cuts the cold water, keeping his head up. Two splash and slush the spring water at each other. One thing leads to another, they are floating just off the shore face to face, only their faces are above the water. Sure, both can just stand up but neither of them say anything. Elio rolls his eyes and kicks his feet under the water to push himself closer to Oliver. The blue eyes simply smiles as he welcomes the dark curls’ lips. It’s different from kissing in the shower. Water tastes different: he tastes different. But two keep their lips locked, completely immersed in being just that. Lips over lips, mouth over mouth, tongue swirling over tongue, and the now not-so-freezing water. Nose by nose, Elio grins, sucking loose of Oliver’s upper lip. Two are literally entwined—Oliver’s long leg wrapped around Elio’s and so does Elio on the other side. Elio tips his chin, sucking in a large breath and his mouth makes a cheeky grin. Then, his left hand disappears into the water. The alpha just chuckles low as the omega’s fingers find their way into his swim trunks. Oliver simply blinks as the hazel eyes kisses his lips slowly. The dark curls’ middle finger finds its way between the taut running’s gluts. Their gaze locked on each other, Elio sees Oliver’s eyebrows tipping upwards. The omega’s lips make a barely-there wave. And he pushes in the finger.

“Brazen,” And he reaches down for Elio’s base and he lets out a mused sound.

Then he separates his lips with a scrumptious kissing sound and nuzzles his cheeks on Elio’s. And he whispers, “you know if you want to do me, I’d need at least three.”

Oliver feels Elio ducking his head and motions to pull out his finger. Oliver’s hand reaches back and stops Elio’s hand from moving. His large palm cups the back of the omega’s hand and gives it a little push. Elio’s mouth falls open as Oliver is guiding the hazel eyes’ hand. Once the fingertip touches the right spot, the alpha lets out a moan, his eyelids fluttering. Elio is taking all of that in.

After the wave of climax, Oliver floats his body near the surface: Deadman’s float. Elio holds the alpha’s head, as swimming instructors do when they hold the student’s body so lightly that they seem to keep you afloat with barely a touch of their fingers. Why do I feel older than he is? Elio thinks to himself. He wants to protect him from the rocks, from the bugs, from the moss and the water grass, from the other unknown stuff. Is it me being protective or possessive?

“How are you?” Elio asks softly, hoping to convey more meanings without saying much.

Oliver’s lips quirk up and takes a breath before he says with a warm voice, “you should know. I came hard and shot a load into Monet’s berm.”

.

The sunrise starts to color the Monet’s berm in its most enchanting shade of orange and yellow lifting the light blue-hued veil of dawn. It’s the omega who decides to get out of the water first, burbling something about his fingers are turning into prunes. Oliver slaps his small round butt before letting him go. After a few more short laps of lazy front crawl, the alpha too walks out of the water. Oliver runs his palm from his forehead to the nape of his neck. Suddenly, the blond’s mouth falls open.

Elio is sitting under the warmest part of the Monet’s berm—his knees bent, hugging them with his arms, his head gently tipped up with his eyes softly closed. Oliver cannot believe it’s real. The dream he has had countless times is happening right in front of him. He stays rooted in his place and just… admires the _real_ version of his own dream. Because... this is the dream he doesn't want to wake up from.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Yes, I did mean Elio’s equipment’s girth (*kuh hum* and maybe the overall size) is bigger than that of Oliver’s. *sly giggle* and yes, who can resist the book-verse Elio's i. foot-fetish over Oliver’s soft feet, and ii. him fingering Oliver at the hotel (in the balcony, even) before meeting the publisher? hehehe  
> .  
> As always, thank you for reading, your time and interest.  
> Please stay safe and healthy: mind, body, and soul.  
> 


	12. Object Permanence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jumping to the timeline of re-union.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-linear in full swing _with_ POV flip-flop; please kindly hold on to your britches.  
> .  
> my rating sense has always been off; though no actual bumpy-rumpy, I’m leaving this chapter under the blanket **M**.  
> .  
> Object Permanence  
> n. the understanding that objects continue to exist even when they cannot be seen, heard, touched, smelled or sensed in any way.  
> .  
> As usual, I take every and all responsibility. But please kindly don’t kill the messenger as I kinda sorta suffer more than unnecessarily when me-brain _insists_ on audio-visually focused progression. *deep-n-long sigh* Meaning this is not some technique or flare I’m intentionally doing, I swear! *ugly chibi plop*  
> 

**Chapter Eleven. Object Permanence**

**Mid-fall after the Summer | Two years ago | Paris, France**

Oliver is running desperately. His hair in complete mess.

_Why?_

_Why, Elio? Why didn’t you reach out to me?_

The blond crosses the street in red light, cars honking, the alpha weaves between the traffic as if he doesn't give a damn about his safety. Or his life for that matter. Swear words blaring in the just-another-afternoon downtown Paris.

.

**30 minutes ago | Registrar’s office | Local Community College | Paris, France**

Oliver was standing there waiting to get his next term related paperworks handed over. Something with the campus network connection issue. So, he had to sign a printed copy to get his next semester schedule to the registrar’s office. Being in a community college, Oliver had to do all the administrative work himself. But he still preferred belonging here, rather than the big or prestigious university.

Oddly, the hissing and mumbling sound of a group of registrar’s office staff somehow caught Oliver’s attention. They were, as usual, gossiping about some topic Oliver would never know or understand.

\ “yeah, it’s quite sad. Isn’t it? in this day and age.” \

\ “I heard he asked for it.” \

\ “oh, come now, I’ve never heard an omega male asking for such terrible things. Not everyone has gang-rape fantasies. It only exists in tasteless porn movies. Besides, that's why it’s called ‘fantasy’ not a real wish.” \

\ “then, maybe he should have been at home when he was in heat.” \

\ “do you stay at home when you are on your regular ovulation cycle?” \

\ “anyways, how do you even know this?” \

\ “duh? Italian male omega? It was even in the news.” \

\ “he came back just to get bullied? Why is he not mated or contracted off with an alpha?” \

Oliver only had to hear that much to know what was going on. The blond couldn’t understand why, but he was certain they were talking about Elio. Apparently, this seemingly rare Italian omega had been a talk of the town in the circle of university campus.

\ “…yeah, the school couldn’t protect him. So, I heard he is leaving the school.” \

The alpha’s nostrils flared. Something murderous coiled swiftly in his gut. He didn’t even realize he was clutching hard on the soft cover file in his grip. Oliver quickly fished out his mobile and thumbed the screen to open the messaging app.

No answer.

At that moment, a voice message arrived in a form of attachment to his college public email. Oliver cocked his head, squinting his eyes meaningfully at his screen. Fuck, I didn’t even miss a call. What is…

“Excuse me, pardon,” and he pressed the back-lit QLED screen as he excused himself out of the crowd: the mixture of students and other faculties.

/ “uhhh… hi,” / Oliver registered Elio sighing, / “(hah–––, this is stupid).” /

A prolonged pause made Oliver peel his ear from his phone. The recording attachment was still playing. Oliver felt a heavy stone pitting abruptly in his gut.

/ “I uhh…hi, I already said ‘hi’ already, huh?” / Elio chuckled nervously. Oliver could so easily picture his face, his expression, his hand on his luscious curls.

/ “I just wanted to let you know. I’d hate to have you find out from someone else. I uh… I know I didn’t respond to any of your texts and… and… you probably have moved on–, already. But… uhmmm… something happened at school and… my parents and I decided to uh… move on.” /

 _What do you mean 'move on'?_ Oliver mouthed the question as he walked pass the crowd. There were a couple of students who wanted to say ‘hi’ but Oliver didn’t even acknowledge them. Elio sighed long again. Shuddering, anguished, and… sad. Deeply sad. Oliver hated hearing his Elio this sad.

/ “…is it stupid that I want to hear your voice? After how I… left things… off… between us at the end of summer?” /

“No, no, no, no,” Oliver muttered urgently under his breath, as he peered out on the street, no taxi was in sight.

He thumbed his app for Uber but the next available times were way to long.

Shit, shit, shit.

Oliver’s head turned left and then right. He clicked his tongue with a deep frown between his eyebrows. Then, without a second thought, he quickened his strides.

/ “anywho, I will be leaving the country this evening and… and… I want you to know… that I will miss you. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I wish I knew how to uh… you know… deal with the past event… better. Maybe more therapy might have helped…” /

Oliver brusquely popped out his earphones before he even finished listening to the rest of Elio’s message. Then, he frantically dialed Elio’s number.

‘The number you dialed is no longer in service,’ the female AI voice said in French first then in Italian.

_God Damn it!!_

.

Oliver ran up the student housing, where he knew Elio has been staying, in two or three steps at a time. He didn’t care how he looked right at this moment. Rudely, unapologetically, the alpha shoulder-bump-passed the crowd of students. He managed to find Elio’s room on the wall registry and what Oliver first saw was the disgusting remnants of Elio having been bullied and targeted. Not just swear words that appear to have been painted over several times. Even on the surface of the university’s official notice, someone had spray-painted, ‘whore,’ ‘take your slick hole someplace else.’ Oliver barged into his room, as the superintendent of the housing facility approached from the other end of the hallway noticing a visitor. The room was completely empty. No sign of Elio.

Just empty bed, no sheets, no books, no nothing.

Oliver panting hard, he quickly looked around to get a clue. Right at that moment, Elio’s scent hit his nose. Or what’s left of him. Very faint but definitely him. And Oliver swore under his breath, because Elio just. left.

Only. Just.

The superintendent approached him slowly as he could tell Oliver is an alpha who was not entirely in his usual composure.

“ehrrr--, (pardon me, mister--)”

Oliver turned his head to where the voice was coming from, just to find the jar of origami on the top shelf of empty bookcase. He crossed the room in a single stride, taking hold of that jar. The reminder that he left on the foldable tray, right outside Elio’s bedroom, on the last day of his summer stay at the villa.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

Oliver fell to his knees and screamed at the top of his lungs. It was a mixture of cry-like howl and guttural exclaim in pain.

In total helplessness.

.

**Present Day | Backstage of Auditorium | London, UK**

Memory is a funny thing. The moment Oliver sees Elio, his brain takes him back to the day he found out Elio left him: permanently. And the blond wonders the reason behind the purpose of this particular recollection. Is it from regret? Or a wishful thinking? Then, his cogs turn and he takes in a sharp breath through his nose, lightly clicking his tongue: _That’s why I dreamt it this morning_. Because Oliver hasn’t had _that_ dream for a very long while.

**Two Years Ago | Student Housing near Conservatoire de Paris | Paris, France**

Oliver was asked to exit the premises as he wasn’t supposed to be there. He offered his apologies, barely, and started to descend the steps.

“Oh, let me get it for you,” a stranger’s voice said, when he was about to reach for the door.

Oliver didn’t even bother to look up and simply said his thanks before he stepped through. Not to mention a rational sense to question why a guy’d be opening a door for him. A gust of wind splashed over his face and the blue eyes looked up with a surprise. Oliver was standing in front of a very familiar tourist attraction near river Seine.

“First time is always jarring for you,” the stranger’s voice said to him, in a very calm and sympathetic tone, “take a deep breath throu–.”

Oliver turned around to face the person with wide eyes, a sudden anger boiling inside him.

“Who– or what are you?”

The voice belonged to a guy in an immaculately tailored retro suit: heather grey. He raised his open hands with a little nervous smile. Hey, chill~ in gesture: I mean no harm. Oliver’s head turned, to left and then to right, hoping to locate where the hell he was. Then, he spotted a shop he regularly visited for a local good wine. It’s… Pont des Arts. I am looking at Pont des Arts. How?? It’s impossible!!

The heather grey man extended his arm, “uhm– why don’t we walk?”

Oliver knitted his eyebrows and shot him a disapproving look. At that, the heather grey offered a soft reassuring smile and said, “I’ll explain,” looking dead straight into Oliver’s eyes. The blond blinked. And the heather grey filled his lungs, his lips forming a thin line, before he placed his palm on his chest.

“Please? Professor.”

Oliver sucked in a large breath through his gaped mouth and exhaled a subdued growl through his nose, his jaws bulging. The blue eyes dipped his head a little, his chin rotating just to convey he was going against his best judgement. And two men walked onto the bridge. How ironic, Oliver thought, walking on the ‘love lock’ bridge.

When they arrived on the third bench, the heather grey sighed out a long breath. It all seemed so odd. Because for some bizarre reason, Oliver felt as though this stranger was relieved of something; as if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“I know you have many questions–.”

“Who are you?”

The heather grey’s eyebrows rose with ‘well~, that question’ expression on his face. He took a meaningful breath through his nose.

“For those who believe in multiverse theory, I’m a visitor who can cross the quantum planes. For those evolutionary biologists who haven’t eliminated the possibility of extraterrestrial beings, I’m an observer sent by the engineers from a faraway galaxy.”

Oliver’s face only became more puzzled.

“For those who believe in angels and demons, I’m a half-breed who watches over the mortals as neither can cross over to this realm. For those who believe in the magical world of witches and warlocks, I’m an auror. Or for those who believe in the temporal fracture, I’m from not-present time.”

The heather grey didn’t miss the blue eyes’ expression of ‘you’ve gotta be fucking with me.’ So he goes, “for you? I am just Lewis.”

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?” Oliver asked, and his eyes caught the heather grey’s name on the notebook’s spine he was holding. The engraving did say ‘Lewis Hatsche’ at the top. The blond did also notice an acronym ‘L.U.C.E.’ at the bottom.

“That’s the question, isn’t it? _what the hell is going on_?” Lewis chortled lightly, “I wish I can tell you. Truly. But I too haven’t a clue.”

And he broke out into muttering to himself. It appeared to be a habit that was acquired by the prolonged stress. A type of occupational hazard.

“uh…so…What? you’re a time-traveler?” Oliver stammered, and he couldn’t believe himself that he was saying it out loud.

“Ahhh––, philosopher and archeologist,” Lewis mused, “the short answer is no. But you should know that the concept of time is–.”

“Just, will you tell me what is going on?”

“Okay, okay–,” Lewis cowers a little, pulling in his shoulders, “in full disclosure, I’m not here.”

Oliver’s eyes rolled up in a ‘you think??’ expression.

“How are you feeling?" Lewis asked, a genuine but out of place concern all over his face.

Oliver looked as though he was about to punch him.

“Alright, alright, I couldn’t just stand by and watch anymore. You and Elio.”

“How…?” Oliver glided his jaw still trying to grasp what was happening to him, “what do you mean? What– what was happening to me and Elio?”

“Okay, quick, think of a number,” Lewis asked, then before Oliver had a chance, “pi, professor, three point one four one five nine two six. Think of a place no one would possibly guess. Tunisia. I thought you’d be thinking of someplace…oh, the ancient ruin of Carthage, niiice.”

“Urhggg––, will you–?”

"We can't read your mind or hear your thoughts. But before you make a choice your brain weighs options, and we perceive that. We know if you're going to go off Plan or not. Because, as long as we're close enough, we can sense it when it's about to happen."

"So what? like a sixth sense?"

"Seventh, actually."

“You mentioned something about _Plan_. What plan?

“I made a choice looong time ago that I’d do anything to stay in the field. That means, it’s above my pay grade,” Lewis said in a forthright tone.

"If you’re not supposed to be here or, or I’m not supposed to know about this, what would your colleagues do to you if they knew what you were telling me?"

This was precisely what Lewis had been worried about.

"That's why we're meeting out here."

Oliver looked at him with more confusion.

"Something about water, the management cannot detect,” Lewis explained, yet he turned his head over his shoulder to make sure someone like him wasn’t around.

“We don't have the manpower to follow everybody all the time. Nine billion people and counting,” with the lack of reciprocation from Oliver, the heather grey finally decided to break it down for him, “they're checking in on you.”

Oliver’s upper back straightened up and his head turned to take a look around his surroundings. Lewis put on a wry grin with soft chuckles under his breath.

“I don’t mean right now. As I said, we, as in most field dudes and dudettes’ main objective is to observe. But given the amount of resources they have used, I can only assume that something about you two is pretty important to them."

"Who's them? why not you?"

"Let's just say I'm not in the business of meddling."

“What are you saying?”

“You have a fully erupted soul-mark, right?” Lewis asked, changing the subject.

“How do you know that? I haven’t told anyon…”

“Damn!!” Lewis frowned as if it was something bad, and he mutters, “even with that, huh?” then he swiftly turned to Oliver and went, “oh, wait, what do you mean you didn’t see it on Elio? How is that even pos…,” and the heather grey retracted to his thinking-outloud, “Ooohhh~~, that’s what’s been going on.”

“Lewis!”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Lewis pulled himself to regain his focus, “I know it sounds like a total bs to you but please do me a favor and don’t go looking for Elio.”

“Why?”

“I know you can reach out to Sam and Annella, heck even Marzia,” Lewis stated to him rubbing his thumb under his chin, thinking to himself, then just as quickly turned to Oliver, “oh, come now, proximity, what did I say?” as if he was in a hurry to not have the blond thinking about things he already knew, “anywho–, what I ask is that let them think that they have successfully ripped you two apart.”

Oliver took in a large breath through his parted lips.

“Yes, I know,” Lewis replied before Oliver had a chance to say it out loud, “but let me see what I can do. I can’t guarantee anything but… I have a good feeling that it won’t be like twenty years.”

“What?? Twent–”

“Do you believe in Free Will, professor?”

With that, something very certain clicked in Oliver’s head. A teeth wide ear-to-ear smile bloomed on Lewis’ face and he says with glee, “therre you go.”

.

**Present day | Backstage of Auditorium | London, UK**

**Oliver**

I think I felt his presence, without knowing what I was feeling. All morning; maybe even before I woke up. So it wasn’t a trick of the eye that I thought I saw Lewis on my morning run. Maybe it was simply logical for me to consider the gut feeling I had as my nerves: the one I carelessly chucked it off until now. Granted, who wouldn’t feel that way with all the hoopla and the extravagant stuff going on with this particular event?

What the fuck am I doing? standing behind the curtains, hiding? Elio didn’t see me. He had his head down looking at his smartphone. Funny, though. How easily I recognized him. Him sitting in the far left corner. It was as if I was being guided.

He’s here; Elio is here.

My. Elio.

I feel my eyelids blink. Why am I so nervous? I see the back of my hand as I fist up my grip. It’s as if I’m observing myself. I am me. But this is not entirely me. Oh, get a grip, Oliver, Breathe!

–x-x-x–

So, Oliver rubs at his eyes and shakes his head, before he peeks his head out—to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. Sure enough, the blond's eye takes things in. Elio is still thumbing something on his cell.

His luscious curls are longer; still slender and ethereal. And the alpha wonders whether he came to see him, whether Elio knew it’s his lecture he was attending. If he did, for how long? Because the hazel eyes' body language appears as though he isn’t really interested in the lecture. _Was he obligated to come here, then?_

.

**Oliver**

Two years. After what seemed like thousands of life times, we are here: in the same place, at the same time. But why here? why of all days, today? I wonder Lewis has anything to do with this.

It has been a well-known fact for a while that I must give the best lecture for these students and attendees, and be a good representation for the institution I now proudly belong to. Even if it means that I am to take on the persona of the greatest performer of all times. And yet, just by knowing Elio is here makes me anxious, and I never get anxious.

–x-x-x–

Oliver notices that his palms begin to sweat. And all the hairs immediately stand upright, electrified— on his arms, chest, back, neck, and legs. All he can feel is the unquenchable carnal desire, the pure instinct to breed. _Awft, fuck, not here_ , Oliver screws his eyes shut.

Rut is something alpha cannot control, even the one who has gone through a prestigious private school designed for grooming alphas. Oliver fists his grips so hard the knuckles turn white. The blue eyes feels a distinct and unmistakable sting in his eyes. His red threads in iris are stretching. Oliver subdues a deep growl rumbling up from his core. He is feeling the blinding yearning for his mate. Without the discipline he had gone through for 12 years of his life in private school, he’d walk right out of this back stage, stride across to jump off of it veraciously, jog up to him, and take Elio, in front of everyone. Not caring about anything. Not of place, nor his reputation or of the school. Or any possible ramification. All he wants to do after is that he’d push him against the wall, kiss his lips, thread his fingers into Elio’s gorgeous curls, while have the omega wrap his legs up around Oliver’s waist.

.

**Oliver**

And as soon as I have my fill of his lips, while his low sensual moans echo in my ear drums like surround sound, I’d pin his torso against the wall and _finally_ bite his neck. On his porcelain soft smooth skin, my canines’d be deep in his flesh, until I’d taste his sweet blood. Then, I’d lick them off of his skin and soothe him there with my tongue. And maybe, he will whisper to me in his arousal-laced voice through gritted teeth, ‘fuck me,’ as he did on the day we went into the post office. _Fuck me, Elio, fuck me_ , with all the intent and want imbued in his stunning voice. And I would oblige. It’d take less than a second for me to unhook my belt buckles as Elio’d undo his. His back flush against the wall as he hurries his hands. Beautiful and nimble pianist’s fingers. Yet, I’d rip the undone flyer of his jeans in haste. And I’d be immediately engulfed in the scent only I can smell. My omega so so wet and ready with his slick. Oh, how I missed it. The scent, the taste of the basal physiology of Elio hard at work. Just for me. And I’d quickly push up my engorged cock between his small round butt-cheeks. Of course, I know my leaking erection would be gladly greeted by his inviting hole where I’d circle my fingertip around just to bring it back between our lips. _Here, have a taste, cause you taste amazing_.

And in front of all these people, I’d rut into him in one swift thrust and fill him up until my knot would swell to its full capacity until I could no longer fuck into his magnificent body. And I’d hear his voice, begging, pleading, ‘come, baby, come in me.’ Only then, I’d spill my hot semen into him like fireworks.

–x-x-x–

Oliver runs his palm gruffly over his face thinking, ‘ _fuck I’m so pent up_.’ The alpha’s cheeks are flushed, and his heart is racing as if he just finished 400m sprint; _so pathetic_. He clenches his fists again. _Get a grip_!! And from his right,

"It's time, professor,” a timid voice echoes.

A saving grace, the blond thinks to himself. And he straightens his front and sucks in a giant audible breath through his nose. That’s when he hears the introduction about himself by the event presentator. Oliver cracks his neck, side to side.

_Get your shit together, Oliver._

After the presenter introduces him as they rehearsed, the blue eyes walks up the stage. And purposefully, Oliver raises his gaze up at Elio’s direction as he begins the introduction of the seminar. As intended, their eyes meet. That’s when Oliver figures out. _Ahh… so you didn’t know much detail._ But it’s a sight: his jaw dropped, eyes wide, pupils dilated making his bright hazel eyes darker than usual. _Is he frightened? Shocked?_ The lights in the audience go dim shortly after.

.

**Oliver**

All those contradicting emotions my Elio is so very good at showing, right at this moment. Unfiltered. I can only gasp, over and over. A strange sensation of feeling so triumphant. And... you are still so mesmerizingly wonderful the day I last saw you. Even though I cannot see now as the huge bright spot light is on me, I can read him perfectly well. I can almost hear his heart beat. Him being unguarded like this, I must thank the surprise factor that played into this. Because I can voyeur his head as I did before. A few years back. Hmm. How refreshing.

–x-x-x–

The DP loves how Oliver look, so lively, on camera and she gives this and that instruction to her crew at the control booth. Call it a coincidence but the timing of theatrics of this seminar production and the whole set-up somehow emboldens him to tap deeper into the primal nature of his core being. Oliver, predator. Him, his pray. Or the alpha, sailor. The omega, the siren. And a sudden calm dawns on him. _So this is our mating ritual then: a test run_ , Oliver thinks to himself. And this, the most incredible coincident he's never imagined, makes him wonder about the concept of fate.

.

**Oliver**

The moment I captured what he is feeling –that he is wanting the same. thing.–, I don't remember much after that. Well, any mating pair can tell that much even without having the soul connection. Because we are animals after all. With all the basic desires and needs intact. There is no denying the power of nature.

It isn’t like I blacked out almost two hours of lecture. It’s more like an autopilot. The sensation definitely is strange, dreamlike. As if my astral self separated from my corporeal being at the moment I locked on Elio thinking the same thing (like the scene from one of those block buster movies), I watch myself perform. In some sense, I look like a peacock strutting, putting on a show. The entire time, though I see myself following the classic, ‘use the space given to you, commend the air around you,’ technique, my eyes were directly towards his direction, on his eyes (though I couldn’t literally see him) and turned around, knowing exactly he would follow me.

Watch. Me.

Only. Me.

And that the two long hours of the greatest game of seduction carries on. I never feel so energized. Funny thing is that, within I had a battle going on: me!human vs. me!animal. Apparently, (and most thankfully) the former is stronger, because I manage to finish the lecture. And the Q&A session. I pompously bravo myself in my head when long applause breaks out in the auditorium in the end.

Whew––

Now I’m sitting here, waiting for book signing. And…

My nose catches his scent first. And without a moment of hesitation, my dick begins to bulge heavily down low with searing heat. Life and mind of its own. A Very active one.

.

**Present day | After the Book Signing | London, UK**

Oliver clears his throat and keeps his composure.

“Fancy seeing you here, professor,” Diego mocks with his usual sarcasm.

“It’s been a while, Serg,” Oliver replies as if he is greeting an old friend.

“Carajo,” he almost spits, “Diego, Di. Eh. Go, pendejo, my old man doesn’t even call me by that anymore,” Diego retorts, tartly.

“It’s good to see you, too,” the taller one answers.

“I’m not doing this for myself but you know mom,” Diego scratches the back of his head.

“Yes, how is she?”

Diego just throws his forearms to the side with a slow shrug. And all the while, Oliver can see Elio is all baffled. Oliver takes in a determined breath and fills his lungs, before he turns to meet his eyes.

“It’s a long story,” Oliver offers a soft smile to the dark curls as if they are two good friends who saw each other earlier today, “how are you?”

The beautiful eyes on each other, time slows—slower than the molasses. Two unwavering, steady, focused, hazel eyes are gazing back at him. _Stunning_ , Oliver muses to himself. And…, Elio just blinks.

Once.

.

A moment of silence hangs awkwardly between them. Elio shrugs his shoulder, as if there is something he needs apologizing, without saying anything. The part where Oliver said about Diego and he met during their private school years did not have much surprise impact on Elio. As Diego being a few years older, the hazel eyes doesn’t think too much on this part of their history. At the same time, the surreal nature of standing in front of his ‘the one that got away’ has the dark curls’ sense of reality on its far left field. Beyond unreal. He wants to pinch his skin. No, slap the hell out of me. And please tell me this is not a dream.

“Don’t worry, my role as his support animal ends here,” Diego says nonchalantly.

Elio’s head quickly turns to Diego and the potty-mouthed Spaniard just tosses his version of Later with a salute, before he casually walks away. The hazel eyes lips part in protest, as if he is about to call out his friend who just deserted him behind.

More silence.

Then, more silence continues between them.

“What~?” Elio breathes out with a light chuckle at Oliver’s unflinching gaze. Him looking at the hazel eyes with new found adoration. The omega must be very nervous at the fact that they are standing so close after all this time.

Oliver huffs fondly, “It’s really good to see you.”

The blue eyes’ honesty seems to surprise Elio more. And the dark curls confesses in kind that he is having trouble recovering from the surprise. What does he mean? Oliver thinks. Did he really not know he was coming to my seminar? Stick to the subject, professor. Don’t digress. You are well aware of where a hasty tangential exploration can lead you. Oliver swallows.

Though by the scent… Oh~ how much I missed his scent, Oliver muses in his head before finishing his own assessment of Elio’s scent profile. Sweet: this time, way over the top yet a weighty licorice and thick caramel somehow balance it. Just like his personality. And the top note of dark cherry. It’s intoxicating. Oliver squares his jaw stilling himself. By the scent alone, the alpha can easily tell Elio is not mated. So he goes,

“Are you and Diego–?” Oliver asks.

Elio shakes his head, his magnificent curls swaying so beautifully. Oliver is practically beaming. Yet, he cannot help but to forge on for more clarification.

“The way you behave around one another seems…,” Oliver takes a pause for a short inhale, “there is more,” and throws a sentence, an assumption, as a question. Tentative but not mincing any words.

“It’s a long story,” retorts Elio, repeating Oliver’s own sentence from a few moments ago back to him. Then he begins and fills the blond in, with a very brief version of how he became Diego’s seminar/lecture wingman.

Oliver hums once, as in ‘I see,’ and ‘how curious,’ strangely mixed together. Elio chuckles under his breath with mock reproof.

“So, was this a good surprise, then?” Oliver asks.

Elio blinks first. And a pause. But then, the hazel eyes smiles shyly before he nods his head.

“Do you have any plans for later?” asks the professor.

Elio cocks his head, just minutely at the bold question.

“You mean… today?”

“Yes,” Oliver replies without missing a beat.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t someone like you have a friend or a partner? Or people to hang out with?”

Elio takes in a breath with a soft expression of a light-bulb-turning-on of what Oliver is doing.

“Someone like me? Are we really having this conversation?” reproaches Elio with a bit of snigger on his face, emphasizing the word ‘this’ in a way only two people who have known each other so intimately could understand. Here, I’ll whet my beak and take your bait; but only this much, you need to meet me in the middle.

“Indulge me,” Oliver answers with a lopsided grin.

Elio huffs, his head leaning slightly to his right shoulder in a gesture of ‘oh, alright, then.' They both know they can always read each other very well. There is no ambiguity to dispel; no getting-to-know-you-again list to go through. Yet Elio knows exactly what this alpha is trying to do.

Oliver takes in an audible breath, shoving his hands down in his suit pants’ pocket, respectably. Left hand to the left. Right one to the right. Shoulders lax, face expression soft. Elio fills his lungs and then repeats his question perceptively, “someone like me?”

Oliver lips twitch in a subdued smile, “yes, someone young, sparkling, clearly fascinating, to say nothing but very handsome.”

“There is no one,” Elio answers casting his eyes down a little, trying not to show that he too is enjoying this tit-for-tat. Nothing has changed, hasn’t it? In that split moment, all those blissful memories of four weeks after the long eight weeks of dawdling around each other comes back to Elio.

“You still don’t take compliments well,” Oliver breathes these words.

Elio lifts his gaze and shakes his head, without a smile, this time.

“So, ‘no one’ no one?” Oliver presses further.

“Nobody.”

“Not even the occasional––”

“I don’t do the occasional,” counters Elio without a blink.

Hm. Oliver muses, “but there must have been someone special.”

“There was,” Elio plays along, though in a mirthless and dour tone.

A pause. Oliver’s piercing blue eyes darken, “How long ago?”

Elio’s magnificent eyes study Oliver, closely. Only a couple of steps apart, his heart racing like a metronome without the weight.

“Two summers,” Elio offers.

To that straightforward confirmation, the tips of Oliver lips quirk. And the expression on the blond’s face turns into something only Elio can recognize and decipher. Without any words.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –eh-hem, I humbly thank all those who figured out the references and clap-backs I brought-in in this chapter. *hiding under my shirt, being shy* yess…I’m very nerdy and geeky, I admit it. *nervous giggles*  
> –Diego’s ‘support animal’ line is from a wonderful fic of CMBYN extended verse. If you consume fics in this fandom like I do, you’d know by whom.  
> .  
> As always, thank you for reading (coming back to read & re-read), your time and interest.  
> Do please kindly mind your health and stay safe: mind, body, and soul.


	13. Stream of Consciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio’s recount of their consummation. And the omega discovers something he didn’t know.

**Chapter Twelve. Stream of Consciousness**

Elio is lying on his belly. An unusual ray of mid-morning Sun is casting soft luminescence on his cheek. The hazel eyes stirs. mMmmm, the dark curls moans—a low and quiet barely-there moan; protesting the inescapable cycle of a new day.

The first sense comes on-line is his nose: very, seriously slowly. _I must be dreaming again_ , Elio thinks to himself. Because his nose has tricked him before. It's not real, the omega says to himself in his head. And his thought automatically drifts to the repeated sessions he had to attend. Of which he believed that he worked through that unresolved longing for Oliver. It was a part of his mental health requirement. As he is a foreign student studying abroad without an alpha or a personal guardian, the academy mandated regular counseling as a part of his status quo requirement.

Being accepted to study in the Royal Academy was a miracle. Though almost all of his credits didn’t transfer over and him having to compete with cohorts a couple of years younger than his age were a big injury to his self-confidence, the hazel eyes was really happy to get out of Paris. The return fall term was beyond taxing, as every single day was a living nightmare.

Elio fills his lungs, dreading to open his eyes, knowing he’d be waking up alone again. In this home-away from home. And yet, something is different. His nostrils flare lightly.

Odd––

_How can this be? Am I hallucinating?_

That’s when the dark curls' eyes fly open—his body unmoved.

Blink.

Everything freezes, except for Elio’s wide open eyes. His eyes come to focus and the omega takes things in.

Dark-blue, olive-green, heather grey.

Blink.

Then, Elio fills his lungs.

Blink, Blink.

His breath quickens. And without much movement, Elio turns over his hand and pinches his outer thigh hard. “Ouch!” he winces with a crinkle on the bridge of his nose.

 _So this is not a dream, oh mio Dio,_ _This Is not a DREAM!_

Elio quickly pushes himself up on the bed; knees folding in like a new born bronco getting up with a sudden jolt. He hisses with a noticeable jerk, arching this chest up a bit, reaching down his hand around and between his butt cheeks. Then, the sound of TV news comes through the walls: all muffled.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

A flash of being totally engulfed in Oliver fly by before his eyes.

His hands,

His lips,

His tongue,

And–

And––

And–––

Elio can feel his cheeks heating up. And he cautiously reaches his hand across his chest and hesitantly places the tips of his fingers over the crook of his shoulder.

“Sssss––––,” his fingers barely touched the area but it burns as if he just flayed the spot.

Elio determinately fills his lungs. On his carefully closed lips, a smile ever so slowly blooms. Then, it spreads so beautifully all over his face. And the very next thought is how good it is to smell Oliver on his skin. Because…the dark curls painfully resigned himself of the slightest possibility of it happening, ever again. Yet– here he is; waking up in Oliver's bed. This time, Oliver claimed him: the bite mark. Unlike that blissful summer, _his_ alpha really made his intentions known. Bitten over and over each time they made love; each time Oliver’s knot swelled inside him. Elio ducks his head; his unruly chocolate curls falling over his eyes.

.

**After Book Signing | London, UK**

Two don't share a single word after that. What more is there to say?

As soon as Oliver confirmed that his omega remained unmated and untouched, ever since that summer, the alpha became drunk with ecstasy. Drunk on his scent, intoxicated with this new found closeness, and mightily high on the anticipation of the certain near-future event.

Oliver doesn’t remember how they got here. One moment, the alpha recalls, he is taking hold of Elio’s hand into his grip, now they are getting out of a cab. The very moment the blond’s hand touched the skin of hazel eyes' hand, it is as though the alpha is hurtling crazy fast forward in the mid-air, his breath sucked out of him. Yet, strangely, all his focus hons on his hand, in his grip— _their_ grip—, and Oliver feels curiously grounded. How is this possible? Oliver wonders in his head.

As they walk side-by-side, bits and pieces of their journey up to this moment flash back erratically in Oliver’s mind. A mental snap shot of them getting in a cab; I don’t even remember hailing for one, Oliver comments on his own thought. Their shoulders pressed firm together leaning into each other, the blue eyes pressing his lips on the back of Elio’s hand, in his grip: their fingers interlaced in a way the alpha wanted for a very long time. Suddenly, Oliver wonders how on earth he has everything with him. My shoulder bag. My coat. Oh, and the brown bag. When did I…? How interesting. Yet Oliver doesn’t recall going back to get them. Where did I even leave this?, the blond wonders.

The blue eyes’ place is only a half a block ahead, from where they got off. Almost there, Oliver thinks to himself. And the odd thing is the alpha’s pace is not in any way in a hurry. Though he is aware his hand is holding Elio’s hand, the blond keeps glancing to his side, every once in a while to make sure his omega is really there. And each time the blue eyes tracks to his peripheral vision, he is rewarded with the very familiar yet stunning sight: Elio’s luscious wayward curls all over the place—curlier as they absorbed the moisture from the air of the typical London drizzle. Yes, Elio is walking next to me, calm and composed. No, wait, his cheek is magnificently flushed in shy-pink. Oliver subdues his happy hum.

 _I can’t believe this is happening_ , Oliver ruminates to himself, _it’s quite disorienting_.

_Solid, steady, warm, mine._

Elio’s hand… your hand–– holding mine, in a firm grip.

_Heavy, dizzy, light-headed, mine._

Elio’s scent…Your scent–– while you're pliantly following me to my place.

We are walking; _I am walking_.

Oliver feels his heart is about to leap out of his chest as his heart is beating right under his throat—might as well be running.

_Heated cheeks, racing hearts, mine._

Everything feels like an out of body experience.

This is real; _I’m not dreaming_ ; this is _really_ happening.

My senses all heightened; going up the steps.

My weight only on the front of my shoes.

I give another light squeeze in my grip; to make sure Elio is there.

Gratefully, I feel Elio’s other hand over the back of my hand, telling me, ‘yes, I’m here.’

With distinct beep-beep, my front door unlocks; do I walk in first or…?

 _Dark-blue, stern, olive-green;_ and I don’t remember my place being so glum.

And you, insanely beautiful; so I have indeed been missing a piece of me.

You–

_Is this really real?_

I see your gorgeous hazel eyes on me; I hear my own breath cycling through me.

Gosh––, you are Here.

Here–

Everything is clear now; our paths are supposed to cross, even after two years.

Two. Years. …; felt like million light years.

Oliver simply stands there, watching Elio standing inside his flat. No need for words; just two men occupying the same place. And all of a sudden, his dazzling hazel eyes narrow. Only just. The alpha swallows hard. But neither of them dares to make any move. So the blond takes in everything about Elio; his dark brown curls falling over his eyes, a minute tuck of his chin, a little frown, his eyebrows knitting so delicately.

_What is going on in your head?_

To Oliver’s surprise, Elio's lips part first. His shoulders rise a little and then,

"... Elio––."

**Two years ago | Crema, Italy**

“Was it me?” Oliver asked, peeking his head in.

Elio puffed out a laugh into his rag on his nose, now a mixture of blood and water; the makeshift ice-peck he made out of a cloth napkin and a handful of ice. In a very tight and confined space beside the living room was the Perlman bar. Elio was sitting on the tile floor, his head tilted back, feeling embarrassed, was when he heard the alpha’s voice. Oliver was in the bocchirale looking for the dark curls, after Elio abruptly left the patio table where a middle-aged Italian art historian couple had been having intense (?) conversation over lunch.

Six foot five (1.96cm), a tower of a man who is so quiet in his steps peering through the nook with a frown that said, I’m really concerned about you, was definitely a sight to remember. The hazel eyes still couldn’t figure out how Oliver could move so noiselessly.

Oliver softly mouthed, ‘hey’, before he repeated, “was it my fault?” as he stood leaning against the entry way to the bar.

._._._.  
That morning, they were lying on Elio’s bed; their legs tangled, Oliver’s arm wrapped around Elio’s shoulder. The windows were wide open and two men didn’t care about them being completely naked. The early morning breeze was better than the AC: at least, that’s what Elio insisted. The hazel eyes felt it was time for them to actually _have sex_. He tried coaxing the blond, drawing small circles around his nipples.

“We _have_ sex,” Oliver answered, pressing his lips on top of Elio’s head.

The omega pouted. The alpha tried to reason with him and scooted down to suck him off. Elio pushed him away. Oliver began tickling him for being sassy with him. Once everything was done, Elio was straddling over Oliver’s lap. The blue eyes nuzzled his nose and breathed him in with a long drawn out moan. Elio kneaded his fingertips on Oliver’s scalp. Shortly after that, two went for a run and came back to take shower together in Oliver’s room. Well, Elio’s old room.  
._._._.

“I’m a mess, aren’t I?” Elio said with a rueful smile.

“I guess the ancients said it never hurts to be bled from time to time,” Oliver replied with a warm smile on his face.

“Sit for a second,” Elio requested, reaching out his hand.

And the hazel eyes shifted a little to make room for Oliver. The bar was very tight, and his bare feet touched Oliver’s ankles for a moment. To Elio’s surprise, Oliver nonchalantly took the dark curls’ feet in his hands and laid Elio's legs over his thighs. Elio cocked his head, placing his free hand over Oliver’s open collar, touching his bare skin there. The blue eyes then began to massage his toes. Elio couldn’t help but to moan at the sensation.

“Ouch,” the dark curls' body jerked when the alpha pulled on his toes until they cracked.

Oliver simply grinned.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Elio asked, his fingers caressing Oliver’s neckline and clavicle.

The blond huffed out a snort through his nose, “my mom.”

Elio sucked in an inaudible breath, fiddling Oliver’s Star of David, not knowing what to say. The blue eyes continued his doting massage on Elio’s feet. The dark curls might have said a couple more ‘ouch’ before he playfully tossed, “you’re gonna kill me, you know that? Ouch!”

The alpha moaned out a low hum before he brought Elio’s foot and kissed it, “I hope not.”

The hazel eyes felt his cheeks heating up.

“Are you gonna be okay? Was it about this morning?” Oliver asked affectionately.

Elio pretended that it wasn’t it. Though two knew they couldn’t entirely excluded the very fact that the conversation of their burgeoning bedroom life early this morning had a lot to do with the omega’s nose bleed. The blue eyes patiently waited without further words. And the dark curls clicked his tongue with a pout and said,

“I’ll get over it.”

.

That night, Elio found himself happily sprawled in Oliver’s bed. The one the alpha made by pushing two twin beds together the day after he’d arrived at the villa. The omega is naked lying on his back immersed in a kind of ecstasy as Oliver moved his hands over his body, his skin, as if tonight was the very first time the blond had ever touched him. The alpha kissed him, kissed his arm, his wrist, his belly button, then returned to kiss Elio’s open lips again more deeply. In return, the hazel eyes clung to him, his mind only focusing on his skin over the alpha’s skin; not a part of him wasn’t touching one another. A stuttering breath escaped Oliver’s body and he closed his eyes as if he too was finally letting go. A gentle gesture of Elio, him carding his fingers through Oliver’s sweat laden locks, had Oliver’s eyes to open. They gazed into each other. And time slowed; an eternity seemed to pass between them. The omega’s eyes traveled from Oliver’s left eye to the right. _What are you thinking?_ Elio wondered in his head as the blond’s face was implacable to his eyes. The hazel eyes drew a line with the tip of his thumb, his four fingers gently cupping Oliver’s face. A one gentle soundless touch: from Oliver’s forehead along the bridge of his nose, his adoringly dipped philtrum, over his upper lip down to his plump nether lip. Oliver’s lips parted and he took in a soft tiny gasp. And…

“Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine.”

.

**Oliver’s Place | London, UK**

“… Elio––,” the omega breathes his name.

Oliver closes the distance in a swift stride and holds Elio’s face into his wide splayed palms. He remembers, Oliver echoes in his head. Without any more moment of reluctance, the alpha tilts his omega’s head and presses his lips firm over the dark curls’ parted welcoming lips.

“Elio, Elio, Elio,” the omega whispers in between their passionate kisses. Breathlessly.

A heavy low rumble roars from the inside of the alpha’s chest. And almost immediately, the taller one brings up his hands and bunches up the fabric on Elio’s chest. With a growl, Oliver parts Elio’s button down, ripping off all of Elio’s clothes. And small buttons fly into mid-air with the sound that closely resembles popping popcorn kernels. Yet the hazel eyes doesn’t flinch away. If not anything, he paws at the blond’s flawlessly clothed body with matching ferocity. A wide blissful smile blooms on Elio’s face as he pliantly exposes his neck for Oliver, arching his torso up closer to the alpha. _Here, I know you’ve been missing this: Take me._

The moment the blond licks the spot behind Elio’s ear, where his apocrine glands are, Oliver is hit with the potent scent he so desperately missed for past two years. The alpha lulls his tongue and the hazel eyes’ scent particles knock the roof of his mouth hard. And he feels an instant intoxication and immeasurable excitement at the same time. _If this is an addiction, let me just die in this high_. Just like that, Oliver is irrevocably gone. Rest in peace, Oliver, nice knowing you, the blue eyes bids farewell to his rational brain.

Bumping over the furniture and against the walls and corners, two eventually find their way to Oliver’s bedroom—their clothing falling down behind their trail.

“do you wanna––,” Elio mumbles the question, out of breath, his lips swollen pink and glistening with their mixed saliva, into Oliver’s mouth.

Oliver growls first, his lips still on Elio’s lower lip, and whispers breathlessly, “shut up.”

When two plop their bodies over the blond’s California king bed, Oliver hears Elio giggle. The blue eyes pushes his upper body up, bracketing Elio’s head. Pupils fully blown, the gold ring deeply threaded into his already gorgeous, two hazel eyes are looking up at him.

God––, how was I able to live all these days without you? Oliver thinks to himself. With the back of his hands, Elio traces his skin over the blond’s naked body.

“…now will you make me yours?” the omega asks, pleading, luring: so innocent and sensual all at the same time.

It startles Oliver. Because his brain is encased in the notion of ‘I can just die like this.’ What’s left of his rational brain that is. Because having Elio like this, Oliver is finally, _Finally_ , able to say, I am enough—as if all the puzzle pieces have come together. With the most enchanting and demure look on his face, Elio parts his legs under Oliver, his hands on the alpha’s taut abdomen. And his warm lightly trembling hands find their way to the either side of the blue eyes’ waist before he gives a meaningful squeeze. As if he is saying, Please, Oliver–.

Two are aware both are leaking pre-cum and the dark curls' slick is already soaking through the sheet. And Elio tilts his hips forward and doesn’t miss a chance to make this known to him. Oliver growls as his heavy erection naturally glides itself to position its head right in front of his omega’s glistening wet hole.

With a deep rumble of his chest, Oliver lowers himself to his elbows, burying his face on the crook of Elio’s shoulder and neck. A light whimper lands right into the blond’s ear as he begins with a shallow thrusts around Elio’s ring muscle: _get to know me, I want you to enjoy this, thoroughly_. In turn, Elio wraps his arms under and around Oliver’s warm body and pulls him closer. And that’s the moment the alpha is graced with the hazel eyes’ purr for the first time.

.

His blue iris is completely threaded with red, making them appear purple.

 _I'm yours_ , The alpha’s eyes tell Elio.

I have always been yours.

Their bodies wave together: one after another, and another.

No more goodbyes.

No more doubts.

We are meant to be.

We are enough.

As they have done two summers ago, Elio never lets go of Oliver’s gaze. Their eyes locked, breaths in sync, sweat beads drawing lines after lines on their awakened hot skin, two are in complete bliss. And Oliver watches Elio fall apart in front of him. His mouth open, out of breath, taut erect pink nipples, two black holes with unflinching gaze, plump cherry lips.

Who said missionary is boring?

The alpha brings the dark curls' leg up; the back of his knees hoisted with the inner of his bent elbows. Soon Elio’s legs are draped over Oliver’s shoulders. And the hazel eyes gasps. Oliver’s erection penetrated deeper into his body. A shuddering rumble resonates from Oliver as how exquisite the omega’s body feels around his cock. Elio’s hands wander and when those hands found Oliver’s engaged gluts, the alpha feels his omega’s fingertips digging in.

Deeper, his eyes says, Fuck me harder.

Oliver flashes his canines and threads his arms under Elio’s shoulder blades, cupping his palms on either side of the dark curls’. And a growl utters through the blue eyes’ gritted teeth, as if to say, brace yourself. Elio’s throat bobs, vertically, panting through his parted lips, his mouth dry.

Then,

The blond buries his face on the hazel eyes’ neck and starts to thrust deeper into him. In earnest, fast, in gusto. The omega moans generously and unhindered, in the same beat as the alpha’s hip undulation. It’s a music to Oliver’s ears. Oliver’s red eyes flash dangerously, as he can wait any longer. His canine protruded long before they plopped on his bed and they have been aching so so bad.

“Do it,” Elio whispers, biting down his lower lip scraping it lose, “make me yours.”

And soon, the alpha’s mouth is clenched around the crook of Elio’s neck and shoulder. Two up top, two at the bottom. As soon as four sharp conical teeth breech the porcelain skin, Oliver is greeted with sweet coppery taste of the omega. And instantly, he understands what all those wives’ tales and books have been saying about the omega’s blood. There is nothing like it. Especially, from the person he loves. From the one and only. Curiously, Oliver doesn’t hear Elio crying out in pain.

Instead, his sex-screams are ringing closer in the blond’s ear. Extremely sensual and guttural, only true dick-high individual can make. With the pawing of omega’s fingertips long has turned into scraping drag of his nails,

“Elio, oh God,” the dark curls says into Oliver’s ears, “fuck–,” a desperate gasp and continues breathlessly, “so good, you feel so good,” Elio tries to swallow but his mouth is so parched, “please don’t stop. I wanna feel you deeper. Please, baby–."

The next thing Oliver feels takes him over the edge. The inner wall of his magnificent omega’s body contracts around his hard cock adding more friction and urgency. So, brimming with the sense of conquering warrior, with amazing stamina and sheer will, Oliver thrusts into Elio deeper and with more veraciousness, feeling he can do this all day. Riding high on the mating chemicals coursing through his body. _Can’t you see? All this is for you and you only_. And only word Elio can manage to utter is his name as they did two summer ago: _Call me by your name, I’ll call you by mine_.

“Elio! Elio! Elio!” Elio is almost laughing as he repeats his name out loud. My name.

That is it for Oliver. His knot swells in full, deep inside Elio. And it makes harder for the alpha to move any longer. He sure doesn’t want to hurt his precious omega on their first coitus.

“Mhmmmmm,” Elio rumbles his throat and chest, tilting his head slowly, his sweat damp hair trailing over the sheet. Oliver looking down at him, catching his breath; their gaze on each other, satisfied, loving, ever so tender. The corners of Elio’s lips quirks up. And immediately, Oliver moans out a drawn out shuddering ‘oh,’ as his cock is being squeezed like a tube of toothpaste from the root of his penis to all the way to the head. The hazel eyes tips his head with his eyes’ slowly rolling in pleasure. Oliver can’t help himself but to spill into him.

“(that’s it), la muvi star,” Elio quietly soothes him, “(give it all to me).”

Oliver never remembers coming that hard. It feels like an explosion to him. His soul being pull out through his penis. But only in a very good way. The alpha keeps his gaze on him as post-orgasm ripples through him. Strangely, Oliver feels his head has never this clear, as if all the fog has been lifted. He adjusts his head and looks into Elio’s eyes. See how you make me feel? I come undone for you. _Only you_. And Elio’s mesmerizing eyes smiles — now forest green as the golden rings has completely threaded into his hazel iris. Happy, satiated, calm.

My Elio, Oliver thinks to himself and leans down to presses his lip on his omega.

_This is like coming home._

Elio goes still and only thing moving is his eyelid. After a single blink, the omega sucks in an inaudible breath, “uhmm… did you just…?”

Everything stops for Oliver as well. He squares his jaw. And Oliver undrapes Elio’s legs from his shoulders, one at a time. Elio flinches a little. Sorry, I’ll be more gentle, Oliver thinks to himself.

“That–, what was…,” Elio trails off, this time blinking his eyes quite quickly. And just as swiftly, Elio gasps. Oliver motions to prop himself up on his elbows is when he hears,

“It’s… You.”

Oliver’s eyes widen: his heart may have skipped a beat.

.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Chapter Deleted Scene ]

The pavements are darkened with rain. It has been raining all afternoon. A typical weather, nothing’s new. A yellow umbrella passes by as the black cab whizzes by on the street. A mother is holding her son’s hand coming out of a sandwich shop. The world cannot be more usual as it has been in any other day. The world pans around and the view lands on the white framed window pane. With the sentiment that resembles that of pure and innocent curiosity, —and of course, tongue in the cheek— the inside of the flat comes into view. The room is not lit but one can make out the general atmosphere. The air there is calm and warm. And instantaneously, the feeling of comfort and peace automatically transfers over. The color is mixture of blue and grey, a representation of a bachelor living here. And two colors complement and enhance each other.

The room is filled with heady mixture of juniper, moss, and white pepper with the top note of water melon married so wonderfully with over the top sweet scent of licorice, caramel, and black cherry. Two are never overwhelming yet naturally complementary to one another, in a way that is never flighty or superficial.

.

Their legs tangled and their bodies joined at the hip, Elio is resting his head on Oliver chest. The blond, one of his arms laid over on across the hazel eyes shoulders, the other bent at the elbow, resting at the back of his head, tenderly presses his lips on Elio’s messy curls, sighing so contently. Oliver hears Elio’s soft purring. The alpha smiles quietly to himself as he is aware how self-conscious Elio is. Elio nuzzles his cheek on the blue eyes’ chest as Oliver’s large palm languidly brush-strokes Elio’s sweat-sheened skin.

“How long?” the hazel eyes asks quietly.

“Haven’t a clue, I haven’t knotted anyone before.”

Elio threads his fingers tenderly into the sweat-laden blond hair and chuckles low.

“No, you goose, how long have you known?”

Oh– that, the alpha’s face expression changes. And Oliver sucks in a lungful of air. Elio lifts his head a little with pursed lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The alpha gives him an awkward smile. Somehow, Elio understands.

“Well, now I know,” the hazel eyes says coolly, placing his head back on Oliver’s chest.

The blond simply hums low.

“I bet people were throwing themselves at you constantly,” Elio states, drawing deft tiny circles on Oliver’s moistened thatch of hair on his chest.

The blond takes in a long audible breath first. He looks so content and happy. Not too long of silent seconds later, then,

“Not really,” the alpha offers low.

Elio feigns his disagreement with a chaste slap on Oliver’s chest with his fingers, “Don’t lie. Just because you slept with me.”

But the dark curls is happy to hear that his man hasn’t been one of those alphas. And Elio secretly blushes at his own thought, calling Oliver ‘his man.’ The blue eyes chuckles quietly through his nose with a wide close-lipped smile.

“No, I just told them my mate is working overseas.”

Instead of a following question or some comment, the blond feels Elio cringing a little.

“What?” Oliver asks quickly, deeply concerned, “Did I say something wrong?” and without giving the omega a chance to answer his question, the blue eyes continues with, “I am messing this up, aren’t I?”

Elio simply shakes his head once, “No, you’re not. I just…,” and he trails off.

Oliver brings his palm up on the nape of the dark curls’ neck, softly brushing his fingers there, “…What is it?” he asks quietly.

Elio takes in a breath through his nose as if he is worried that if he tells Oliver this the blond would judge him.

And after a tempo or two more of hesitation, the hazel eyes parts his lips first, taking a small audible gasp, before he says,

“I just…, I just never really like the term ‘mate’,” and the dark curls scrunches his eyebrows, expecting some adverse reaction from Oliver.

But all Elio hears is Oliver’s sigh of relief.

“Whew––– okay, I will remember that,” the blue eyes says with a smile.

“You don’t think it’s too…”

Oliver shakes his head gently and says ‘no’ in two notes of mhm-hm, with the rumble of his throat.

“I’m sorry I’m being so sensitive about certain things,” confesses Elio, pouting a little.

“No, no,” Oliver replies, even his voice colored with a fond smile, “I’m just glad that you are sharing that with me.”

“Whatever,” but Elio is happy to hear Oliver saying that to him.

“I’m serious!” adds Oliver releasing his bent arm from the back of his head and looks down at him.

The omega lifts his upper body a little, looking up at him. His alpha’s piercing sapphire blues don’t waver or blink.

“You are unbelievable,” says Elio and scrunches the bridge of his nose in a very cute only Elioway before he climbs up a little to smooch Oliver, on his lips.

A big grin blooms on the blond’s face as he pulls the dark curls closer for a deeper kiss.

When they finally part from their lazy juicy kisses, Elio begins a conversation, their glistening plump lips still touching. Not letting each other go.

“Anywhoooo, people just believed you?” Elio says those words into Oliver’s lips.

Oliver reverberates his chest deep. And he slowly glides his lips along Elio’s.

“Ah… my young padawan,” offers the blond in a low baritone whisper, “being an alpha has its perks.”

Then, he rolls their bodies over the bed. Elio squeal-giggles. When Elio opens his eyes, he sees Oliver beaming down at him with the soft gaze. Elio fills his lungs. And he reaches his gently edge-curled open palm up and cups Oliver’s face. The blond gently leans into Elio’s hand with the low long hum. The blue eyes wants to compliment how beautiful Elio’s purr is. But he doesn’t want to break this moment. So instead, Oliver goes,

“Mine?”

A quiet huff. And Elio says with an enigmatic soft smile,

“Yours.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, your time and interest.   
>  My humble wish is that you’d graciously take a moment to detach from all those outside noise and look within, and realize you being healthy with sound mind, discerning clear head with critical thinking, and compassionate loving soul matters the most. *prayer hands*   
> 


	14. Cosmic Fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver recounts the three days since the seminar afternoon while something both did not expect surreptitiously happens. Will they be able to weather it together? Of course, Oliver is indeed forewarned by someone we all know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**   
> 

**Chapter Thirteen. Cosmic Fragments**

Calm steady breaths echo rhythmically over the repeating soft footsteps created by a pair of well-broken-in running shoes against the pavement. There are not many people jogging this early: it never is. Oliver likes it this way.

Adjusting to England’s humidity took some getting used to for Oliver. He learned it in a hard way that he needed a different running attire for this type of weather. Because soggy weather and dampness in the air cling to his skin and Oliver ended up suffering days on end from on-the-run chafing, not to mention the foot issue he never had to deal with of all the years of being an avid runner. He by no means sported the idea of wearing hooded runner’s jacket, either. But the blue eyes had grown to appreciate running in them. And he transitioned into a clever high tech footwear designed for watersports that, gratefully, is still going strong withstanding the amount of running Oliver does every morning. Yet, today, he feels as though he’s born a new man—his strides lighter, effortlessly cutting through the early dawn fog soundlessly blanketing mid-air. It is not just about the rare break between the typical London drizzling. Something indeed changed. And the corners of Oliver’s lips tip up as he recalls the very morning.

It was a sight. Something he never expected to see: Elio in his bed, being sound asleep—two years older yet still looking just as youthful as Oliver remembered. His hair longer, unruly as ever, covered in the blond’s scent and gods know what. How in the world he was blessed with this wonderful person to be his mate, the blue eyes could not possibly fathom. It was probably too creepy but… the alpha just sat there for a while watching Elio sleep.

.

After what felt like a whirlwind of their very first time, it took about ten minutes for Oliver to slide out of Elio’s body. As if to make up for the years they have been apart, two didn’t stop. The alpha’s semi-hard cock swelled up and the omega was more than eager to invite him in. The revelation about their soul link that existed since Elio’s eleventh birthday somehow made their love making more desperate.

 _I’ve waited ten years to have you_ , Elio mulled the thought in his head, rocking his body straddling Oliver’s hip, _and this is fucking amazing_.

“Naughty, naughty,” Oliver taunted with a lopsided grin. _Ten years, eh? You were eleven._

Elio tossed him a fleeting dirty look before he tilted his head back and continued on rolling his hips: back and forth, back and forth. The cheeky grin on the blond’s face soon changed into relishing the lascivious sensation coursing through his body. The dark curls felt so amazing. The omega tossed his head back, his lips falling open, panting out one hot breath after another in the same beat as Oliver, and kept on moving on and on as Elio’s appetite for Oliver didn’t seem to subside. He was enjoying himself.

By the time, the pillows and duvet were strewn messily on the floor, fitted sheet no longer hugging the mattress, two fell over together on the bed. Runner’s heart beat on so strong and steady and Elio loved every thump-resonance vibrating through his skin.

“You okay?” Oliver asked softly laying a gentle and loving kiss.

Elio simply hummed as an answer, leaning into Oliver’s kiss as he closed his eyes shut further.

“No…, I mean–– you okay… everywhere?”

Elio chuckled under his breath. Alphas–. So he fills his lungs before turning his head around,

“Yes, I know what you mean. Sore,” the hazel eyes replied, pressing his lips over Oliver’s sweaty skin, “no need to worry.”

.

Maybe it was chemicals messing with his body. Hormones, Oliver thinks to himself as he turns a right corner. But the alpha mildly feels amuzed at a realization that the weather he didn’t know he was fighting against while trying to acclimate for the past two years actually created a nestling effect on both of them since that Thursday afternoon, and throughout the whole weekend. Two stayed in bed, of course, accept for the time for quick bite to eat and to hydrate.

.

_Is this how I will feel when I have my true heat with him?_

Elio mulled over the thought in his head. With an elaborate bold font like one of those flashy-n-expansive ad, in its most exaggerated and extravagant form, ‘A coming attraction: The True Heat of Your life time,’ flashed in his head. Because..., along with the sentiment of ineffable, everything feels as if some profound objective truth has been disclosed to him. Exclusively for Elio and Elio only. All this, everything seemed beyond his comprehension.

Oliver stirred adjusting his upper body a little and murmured into Elio’s skin, “we need to work on your dramatic tendencies.”

Though the blue eyes’ sleep laden voice was so sexy, the omega couldn’t help but to nudge his elbow at his side. It turned into a playful tussle between them and not surprisingly enough, Oliver became wide-awake for another go. This time, two held on to each other’s body as if the experience was sensory deprivation and the overload at the same time. Like they were sucked out into the depth of unknown universe, with no tether, no oxygen. Neither of them ever imagined the experience could be something so endlessly self-contradicting. A fantastical dream yet being wide awake.

Although he doesn’t clearly recall which time, Elio was rapt with the memory he thought he had lost. With Oliver gentling him with his mouth and teeth on the crook of the omega’s neck (oh, the sensation, the warmth, the electricity shooting down-and-up all around his body and limbs), the hazel eyes remembered that this wasn’t the first time he was feeling as though he falling down while everything around him was going dark.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver–, stay with me,” the alpha whispered softly into Elio’s ear, “be here with me,” _Don’t go into the trans_ _and focus on my voice_.

Right, that afternoon before the rave, Elio thought to himself.

And just like that day, the blond began the words that made Elio’s eyes roll up and made him feel as though his brain was bathing in an inexplicable high. _If this is a dream, please don’t let me wake up._ With his large palm tenderly yet securely pressed against and between the shoulder blades of his beautiful omega, Oliver whispered his rumbling words into Elio’s ears.

“I carry your heart with me  
I am never without it  
I fear no fate  
I want no world,”

E. E. Cummings. Elio felt his mouth falling open, feeling so dry and couldn’t even gasp properly. He was that relaxed and highly aroused, just completely and utterly in the moment. Oliver continued.

“and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows–

Elio’s throat bobbed and then his lips started tremoring a little.

“here is the root of the root,” Oliver carried on ever so calmly, trying to have Elio stay focused, “and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide.”

Elio’s eyes rolled under his eyelids. Oliver took in an inhale, calmly. The hazel eyes immediately felt Oliver’s chest expand with a light shiver. To the dark curls, it felt as though he was having an out of body experience. He was aware he was in Oliver’s arms. And at the same time, he felt as though he was watching his body. Elio had never seen Oliver being like this. It was something quite unsettling: the uneasiness, anxiety, and excitement all mixed in one—something very difficult to put a finger on. Yet Elio felt exactly what his alpha was feeling.

“and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart,” Oliver continued with the same beat, adding the rumble of his chest, “I carry your heart.”

As Elio recited the very last line of the verse, (‘I carry it in my heart’) Oliver pressed his lips firmly against the hazel eyes' cheek and lingered his kiss there a while, holding him in his embrace.

.

It takes a bit of time for Elio fishes his legs out properly and to sit at the edge of his side of Oliver’s bed. That's when his eyes finally catches the neatly folded t-shirt and jeans. Elio winces and frowns for being sore everywhere—though with a content smile—as he dresses himself.

Should I take a shower? The dark curls sways rather too quickly as he literally shakes his thought off and saying ‘no’ to himself, all at the same time.

“…hello, mom…” says Elio quietly under his breath, his fingertips on the rim of the mason jar of origami stars, “I missed you.”

Does he still say ‘good night’ to you? Has your wonderful son been a good man? Elio asks the jar in his head.

All this is so... unimaginatively unreal to him. Yet, he knows this is happening in real time. And Elio concludes that he can die now. His heart is so full and incredibly light. No more worries. No more good byes.

It takes a few more moments for the dark curls to pad out to the living room. And he is greeted with the broad back of his Oliver. He looks like it wasn’t too long ago he took a shower. I wonder if he went out for a run, Elio ponders, recalling one of their night conversations, two years ago.

The windows are wide open. The accordion type folding curtains are neatly tied to the side. And the omega quickly gathers that Oliver hasn’t smelled Elio yet because of the direction of the wind.

His arms folded. His biceps lightly engaged. Probably one hand holding the remote, back of his hand under his chin. A little frown between his eyebrows, listening to BBC news.

\ “…the recent acquisition appears to have stirred the internal conflict between two powerful heirs of the Chambers corporation making the investors on edge. Some economists argue that seeming expansion may not come to fruition as the biochemical-engineering company Ωtnæzöm has been battling numerous lawsuits after lawsuits. Our US correspondent is having trouble speaking to any of the board members. According to…” \

The hazel eyes tilts his head a little, studying the rise and fall of Oliver back, and wonders whether he should announce himself. Clear his throat or say ‘good morning’ —though he is aware it is not exactly ‘morning’ morning.

After a little bit more of internal debate, Elio soundlessly walks closer and stands right behind Oliver. He does not understand why such news captivates Oliver’s attention so much, the alpha doesn’t sense someone getting closer. Yet, somehow Elio feels this can happen only once in a great while. So, he cannot help but to grin. So so wide. So so happily. And this close, freshly showered, Oliver smells amazing. Elio is intellectually aware that it has only been two years but his brain is telling him that Oliver’s scent became more mature. Only in a very good way.

\ “… the issue of this so-called global merger hasn’t been thoroughly agreed upon amongst the board members themselves, the sources report. The New Yorker and the Wall Street Journal also corroborate…” \

The omega’s throat bobs, slowly, before he fills his lung ever so quietly. Then–

Elio’s forehead leans on the back of Oliver’ upper back.

A little jump.

“I’m sorry,” Elio breathes out euphorically, as he threads his arms around Oliver’s waist.

Fingers first, then palms. Left on Oliver’s left side of his waist, right on Oliver’s right. Oliver quickly clicks off the TV, overlaying his left hand on the back of Elio’s hand, as he tosses the remote on the sofa. And it lands with a soft muffled thud. Oliver’s large right hand over Elio’s left hand, left one on the omega’s right.

Elio steps in closer, turning his head to press his cheek on Oliver’ back.

“was the TV too loud?”

Elio smiles as the gorgeous vibration resonates through Oliver’s chest cavity to his ear drum. The hazel eyes nuzzles his cheek against the alpha’s back softly, as in ‘no.’ Oliver hums, and takes in an audible slow breath, running his palms along and over Elio’s hands.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Elio huffs.

“…what~~?”

“Mm mm,” replies Elio, at the base of his throat.

“Would you like some breakfast?”

Elio shakes his head. Oliver asks a few more questions. When the alpha reaches the twentieth or something questions, two find themselves swaying a little. So soothing; so grounding.

“Oh, if you are wondering where your mobile is,” Oliver states, leaning his head back a little over and on Elio’s head, “it’s over at the breakfast bar.”

“Thank you,” says Elio.

“Ah~~, so you didn’t forget how to speak!” Oliver teases with his trademark chuckles.

Elio nudges his head against the Oliver’s back, pointedly, and two quickly break out into an arm wrestle. The hazel eyes tries his best to dominate this play-fight but Oliver remembers every single inches of Elio’s weak spots that would make him burst out into uncontrollable giggle: Every. Single. Time.

“I hate to break it to you, you said it yourself. You are mine.”

“yes, yes, ahhhhh––, yes, I give,” Elio is laughing out loud, so happy.

Oliver catches Elio just before his legs about to buckle and pulls him firmly into his embrace. Then, the alpha fills his lungs so contently and exhales with open-mouthed, ‘ha––.’ So relaxing; so peaceful.

Oliver convinces Elio to check his messages, of which Elio refuses.

“I don’t have any classes till Monday.”

“Errr–––, it _Is_ Monday.”

“What??”

“Mhm hmm,” Oliver answers with the rumble of his throat.

“But you are here, don’t you have classes to teach?” Elio asks with a completely stunned look.

“TA.”

“[a sting of Italian curse words,]” Elio abruptly dislodges himself from Oliver’s embrace that makes the blond palm-down the front of the top of his head.

“(oh dear God), Mahler!!!”

_If it is Monday, that means I missed Friday lessons, weekend practice sessions._

"Are the classes you missed core requirements?”

Elio tosses a soft ‘no’ in his head as it wasn’t Oliver’s fault. The dark curls thumbs his fully charged smart phone and sure enough there is a two digit new message notification on his messaging app. Not to mention voice mail notification icon.

“Should I have…,” the blond’s face expression changes into something hard to discern with a single emotion.

“Oliver,” even in the midst of mental frenzy of trying to find his jacket and typing his thumbs away on his smart device, Elio does manage to say the important things, “it’s not your fault, you probably asked about my schedule and––”

The dark curls mobile vibrates in his palm.

/ 'Darle plantón a alguien sin siquiera llamarle por teléfono es muy feo.' /

“oh, merda!” Elio mutters under his breath, the blood draining from his face.

It’s from Diego. If he used such a well-formed full sentence without any contraction or slang, either he is in trouble or is seriously upset.

“What?” Oliver asks cautiously.

“I gotta go,” and Elio mouths 'I’m sorry' before he walks over to Oliver and tip-toes up, then gives him a firm kiss.

Half-stunned (because the way Elio gave him a kiss was different and so natural as if they have been together all this time, as if there was no gap at all) Oliver asks at the back of lush dark curls disappearing behind his front door,

“Go where??”

.

**Dean’s Office | The Royal Academy | London, UK**

The purple haired dean’s assistant tries his very best not to smile but Elio coming in with being drenched heavily Oliver’s scent is hard to miss. He clears his throat as quietly as he can and walks to the dean’s office, knocks thrice. Once the dean’s stern voice permits him to enter, he announces Elio is here.

Behind the frosted half window, Elio can make out Diego is sitting there also by the silhouette.

“Please,” says the assistant politely, stepping aside.

Elio nods with a quiet ‘thank you,’ as he walks past him. Diego doesn’t even look back.

“Now, Mister Perlman, it is very good of you to show up unannounced. Is this going to be your...,” the dean’s barbed voice suddenly trails off. And he pauses with a stunned look on his face.

“And now I am vindicated,” Diego says in a triumphant voice.

The dean’s gaze shots toward Diego’s direction and Diego swiftly raises his hands in surrender then adds, “respectfully and sincerely, Dean Maroni.”

Maestro Maroni, Dean of Elio, Z, and Diego’s department, is an eccentric Italian composer turned world-renown conductor who is famous for being the first academic to study the history of castrati. With his talent, he helped recreating how a famed castrato would have sounded without having to rely heavily on falsetto technique (counter tenor), digital audio manipulation, or mixing the recorded Aria with boy choir vocalists. Later, his dissertation about the highly likely possibility of Farinelli being an omega. And the one who willingly took an enormous risk of sponsoring Elio as a representative of not only his department but the entire academy. Naturally, the hazel eyes missing not just one but three days’ worth of checking in with him indeed is a monumental issue. The one that can revoke not just his student visa but a sure fire recipe for the disastrous debacle.

Elio does not have anything to say but his sincere and deepest apology. And yet, he cannot seem to bring himself to utter those simple words. Maestro extends his edge curled hands and requests Elio to have a seat, next to Diego. Gratefully, his expression is a little softer.

The three people in the office do not say anything for a couple of minutes. From the looks of it, Diego has been defending Elio with his version of truth. As he said at the book signing, he knew where and with whom he left Elio. Dean Maroni takes in a meaningful breath. Elio tenses up with a firm blink of his eyes.

“(please tell me it wasn’t because of your cycle,)” he asks glumly.

Diego opens his mouth but Elio reaches his palm over on the top of Diego’s forearm that is resting on the arm of the opulently curved wooden chair and stops him, ‘no, please let me.’

Elio swallows first.

Blink.

“No, Maestro,” replies Elio, with an unflinching gaze.

Maestro studies Elio’s face expression, his body language, while Diego rolls his eyes. Elio gathers that without disclosing detailed personal information, his friend must have been filling the dean of Elio’s situation.

“I apologize in advance but this is me asking you as your mentor,” the dean begins.

“Please, Maestro, do please accept my apology for–”

Maroni raises his palm a little, signaling Elio to stop.

Elio takes in an inaudible gasp and his lips meets together as he quietly exhales.

“(is it an empty cup?)”

“Pardon?”

“This alpha of yours, has he offered you a full cup as a king should?” Maestro says those words in measured speed, slower than andantino yet faster the adagietto but not quite andante in a tempo oddly in between something only somber yet a full orchestra can evoke. Without much infliction.

But the way that question was asked is more powerful than any deep voice orator in history could have recited. Only a true ring mater with deep knowledge and soul. Gentle but commanding.

Elio is silent. Through his peripheral vision, Diego is looking at him with an expression, ‘well~?’ with his head turned towards him.

It is not that the hazel eyes didn’t understand the dean’s metaphorical question. It is not that the dark curls feels that it wasn’t the maestro’s place to ask that question. Elio is stunned because he never considered himself of deserving a king’s offer of love.

Of course, both pupils sitting across from the dean are intimately familiar with the maestro’s habit of cramming multiple meanings into the words he speak.

The dean was asking whether the owner of the scent Elio carried himself in is a genuine article. Not a phony who pretends to be a king that pretends to give their suitor the world for the wrong reason. Although very few thousand omegas exist, there has been a stark report of the late 21st century version of omega possession practice being so rampantly and unrestrainedly higher than ever.

Elio finds himself in an odd predicament. Does Oliver deserve a title called my king? Is this what being in a relationship with an alpha as an omega in this day and age mean? Or is it just about treating your other half as the highest royalty until you die, the ultimate core of sustaining a bond?

So many questions,

So many thoughts,

All jumbled up; in a big pile of mess.

_Why do I feel lost? I asked him to bond me to him. I begged him to knot me._

_Should I have thought about these before giving into my longing for his scent, his touch, his warmth, his sweat beads on his skin?_

Elio hears Diego sigh as he is the only one other person in the world who knows of Oliver-n-Elio’s saga. Z is too polite to ask in detail but Elio knows that Z has some sense about Elio’s past. People hear things. Internet. Elio swallows hard and as he is about to open his mouth to say his answer out loud, a soft knock of middle E echoes thrice.

“Yes?” Dean responds, as two heads turn to the direction of the antique door being ajar.

The purple head peeks in, “erhm, I apologize, Maestro. but, there is this gentleman who says he is here for both you and Mr. Perlman.”

“Oh?” says Maroni, his tone reflecting an unusual interest.

The assistant’s gaze fall on Elio’s mildly stunned eyes and gives him a certain look. And Elio thinks that he just imagined the tips of the purple hair’s lips quirking up in a clandestine smile. Somehow, he appears to try-n-assure Elio.

“Did he give you his name?”

“Yes, Maestro,” the trademark booming voice echoes from the back of the purple hair.

“(the Knight in shining armor!)” Diego says under his breath, putting his softly clenched fist as if he is blowing a long stem trumpet.

Maestro Maroni’s face lights up and he quickly gets up out of his leather executive chair, as the assistant steps aside to let in the unexpected guest.

The dean opens his arms in such a warm and earnest manner, “thank the gods! Oliver!!!”

Indeed.

My knight just ascended to a king.

 _My king_.

.

**Meanwhile, In an Office Building in the middle of city | Berlin, Germany**

A slick postmodern design that one would easily find in an art gallery is the main theme of the office building. It is a pure embodiment of the minimalist office setting: extremely neat and clean with lots of glossy white with expertly vacuumed floor. Right in front of the line of sight, one man in snugly fitting suit with tapered (very close to skinny) suit pants with red socks is hurrying along—down the corridor and up the stairs.

He knocks on the frame of the door. There is a woman sitting upright with her back straight with her hair swept over to her left. Blazing red lipstick with long black lashes. Before she even acknowledges him, he walks in with a bit of urgency.

“Thomas––,” she begins calmly.

“Elena, (I’m sorry, but you need to see this,)” and he passes his tablet over to her desk.

Her lips part minutely, her expression does not change much. Her nail is nicely trimmed with expertly done French tip manicure. The movement of her long slender fingers are very supple yet distinctly poignant.

“(Come now, it’s nothing new,)” Elena says taking her eyes off of Thomas’s tablet, “(we’ve been dealing with this for the past few–)”

Thomas raises his index finger and swipes, then he lifts up the screen for her to see better. Elena’s eyes widen. Just her eyes. Something indeed caught her attention. Her blazing red lips close, her impeccable posture unmoved. And Thomas stands upright and puts the back of his hands on his waist, in ‘now what do we do, boss?’ Elena fills her lungs in a sharp inhale without much movement. Her hands slowly place Thomas’s tablet on her glossy white desk, as her fingers slowly unfurl from its edges. Only further movement is with her eyes: a single blink. Thomas changes his stance and with his arms cross-folded in front of his chest, biting his thumb nail, he looks at her intently.

Elena simply swivels a little towards her monitor and moves her hands on the surface of her desk. The secure email app opens up and the pointer in the screen moves to the address box. And the light typing sound resonates quietly as her elegant fingers move on the surface of her desk.

.

It has been three weeks since Oliver’s surprise visit to Dean Maroni’s office. The way two fell into the rhythm of being together is as cliché as the term, ‘a match made in heaven.’ And the next three weeks can only be described as a magnificently _crazy_ time for both Elio and Oliver.

Elio often holes himself up in his go-to practice room after class. But he remembers to come home to Oliver (kuh hum, instead of his student housing) before nine, as the dark curls promised after one day him finding Oliver pouting about not getting enough quality time with Elio. During weekends, Oliver would pack his school works with him and come-and-sit in the corner of the auditorium where Elio and his cohorts are practicing. They falls in love with Oliver, because he’d make sure to bring the local tea cakes and refreshments with tea. Not the powdered ones but a _proper leaf_ tea.

As both Elio and Oliver being foreigners, there are endless stack of required paperworks for Oliver to become Elio’s guardian. It turns out to be a messy hassle. Not only the alpha had to visit an American embassy but also an Italian consulate office, on top of a special division in civil records office in London city hall. EU established separate regulations for omega population adds another face-to-face interview session. Yet, Oliver never complains. Dean Maroni writes a long flattering letter to the UK official, vouching for Oliver as a trustworthy alpha whom he’d more than happily relinquish his guardianship without a shred of doubt.

By the first week of December arrives, and the little concert/recital of Mahler goes so smoothly (it even hits the local news and newspaper lauding their success), Oliver receives a matching bracelet set that contains the information of the blue eyes as Elio’s officially mated alpha, along with his guardianship certificate. The blond holds the elaborate gold and silver lined thick piece of paper—with the QR code at the bottom left corner—in his hand for a very long while.

/ “Come to Lake District with me this Christmas break,” / Oliver says over the phone as he placed his bracelet on his wrist.

Elio smiles back though he did fidget, looking at his phone screen.

/ “What~? too soon?” /

Elio shakes his head, his luscious curls swaying, his lips pouting a little.

/ “Did you have plans with your friends?” /

“It’s not that, it’s just…,” Elio trails off and hesitates to finish what he really want say.

/ “The bracelet.” /

Elio nods tentatively. Even through the camera, Oliver’s sapphire blue eyes are just as piercing. Inside, the hazel eyes feels glad that his alpha is not only so pleasing to the eye but also so freaking brilliant.

/ “I won’t make you wear it unless you want to,” / Oliver reasons with Elio, after studying him through the screen, smiling softly looking at him.

The hazel eyes gives him a closed lipped smile before he replies, “Can we talk about it at home?”

Oliver nods with his low chuckles.

.

**Second week of December | Auditorium | Royal Academy, London, UK**

A symphony of melody and the vocals echo against the walls of the auditorium.

“No, no, no–,” Dean Maroni gets up, raising his open palm in mid-air. He puts his winter tea on the table with cookies and snaps before he approaches Diego at the podium.

Diego looks up at the Maestro with a quizzical look.

“It is nice that you all aware how so very talented each of you are,” says Maroni with a measured tone, his hands behind him, at the small of his back, “but orchestra is about harmony. Melding sounds together. Here,” Maestro pushes Diego’s tablet to the side a little then flips over the sheet music. Shortly, the dean lets out a soft ‘ah,’ once he finds the spot he was looking for. Maestro’s gaze falls on Diego’s and he nods. The minutely stunned pupil passes on which part Maroni designated. And everyone swiftly turns pages.

“Mister Z, would you honor us with how you'd play this?”

“err––, Maestro…?”

“Yes, I am aware it’s a string section. Play it as if it was written for piano.”

Maestro is known to put his students on the spot without any warning. For artistic inspiration, he often says. But Dean Maroni knew that for each of his students to become the proud pupil of the Royal Academy, each should be aware of all these classic works by heart. Elio, sitting opposite from Z, gives him a soft ‘you can do it’ nod. Z mulls the notes over after a hard swallow. Then, he begins playing the keys.

Everyone in the hall stay rooted in their seat as the melody echoes. A few moments later, Maestro raises his softly edge curled palm up a little.

“Now Mister Elio,” says the dean with a light lift of his chin.

Elio fills his lungs and his fingers carefully stretch and dance around the black and white keys on the semi-grand.

Dean then picks a student from the wind section to play it as she sees fit. Then, the percussion. He even asks the choir team to sing the notes in ‘ah.’

“The capriccio can be interpreted so many ways, as you can see. Regardless of what the original composer has intended, it is up to us as a group to decide what types of texture we are going to focus, add, or retract. Instead of trying to show off how good each of you are, see the beauty of harmonic sounds that you as a whole can bring to the table. I understand that my decision to put Mister Diego as your conductor for this recital project still don’t sit well with some of you. Don’t fight him. And let him lead you.”

Maestro never interjects how he would conduct a piece. Instead, he’d coach the one who is standing on the podium how to bring out the sound one sees or the melody one hears.

“Forget about everything you learn about classical music. Rather, immerse yourself into these notes and cadenzas, be one with them. As you all came to a conclusion to interpret this score in modern way, let the music come through each and every one of you as the wind does not know why it’s blowing from West to East. As the river water simply ripples and swirls without questioning why. If the balance of what you gained through theoretical and analytical studies and the actual application becomes too burdensome, feel it. Embody it. And always remember, mutual enhancement. When every one of you are sitting here, you are part of a whole.”

Maestro then pulls Diego to the side and goes the sheet music over with him on how he is seeing the piece. While he gives direction, some adjust their instruments, others stretch out their limbs. Once Diego returns, Maestro sits back on the chair and waits for him to begin.

Diego brushes down his front with his palm slowly and raises his hands at the level of his chest. The beautiful _Concerto per violino ed orchestra of Paganini_ reverberates through the auditorium.

.

An hour later, everyone is so exhausted but happy that they had a breakthrough.

“That was sick,” Z says from Elio’s left, as Diego hurries along and joins them with a sugary soft drink he got from the vending machine.

“Are you sure you are not diabetic?” Z tosses the quip with a look.

“Mate, I don’t remember marrying you,” Diego quips back.

Elio nudges Diego hard on his side.

“Yes, yes! I’m sorry. It’s diet. No sugar. See?”

“Thank you,” Z says, rolling his eyes with a wide smile.

As three push the door open, the first thing they see is a group of people standing at the bottom of the step, holding elaborate cameras and equipment.

“That’s him!” a voice echoes from the right. Then, in a matter of a split second, series of flash bursts. Blinding white lights with fast shutter sounds.

\ \ Flash, flash, flash / /

“Jesus!” Z exclaims.

Elio’s name is being yelled and called.

\ \ Flash, flash, flash / /

“Elio!”

“Elio!”

“(Aw, hell, the fucking fuck,)” Diego swears.

\ \ Flash, flash, flash / /

“Mister Perlman!”

All three of them are clambering to get away from the commotion. Maybe because the whole afternoon practice session was too long, Elio begins to feel queasy.

\ \ Flash, flash, flash / /

“Elio!”

“Mister Perlman!”

“Perlman!”

How do they even know my last name?

\ \ Flash, flash, flash / /

“Elio, did you know you were dating an heir of the Chambers Group?”

“Did you use your omega charm to get hooked up with the wealthy alpha?”

In split second, Elio, Diego, and Z are surrounded by a swarm of paparazzi in all directions except for the way they came out. Elio ducks his head as Diego tries his best to hole through but it is no use. Being body bumped relentlessly by such evasive energy triggers something in Elio’s psyche.

“What is your end game, Elio?”

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / /

The world spins around the dark curls and he clutches his hand on Diego’s forearm.

“Uft, fuck!” Diego mutters under his breath.

Then, Diego quickly tosses his open soft drink towards the group of paparazzi, splashing the content all over them. When they back-step a little, the potty-mouthed Spaniard takes off his cross bag and pushes it to Z as he takes of his jacket quickly. Z, befuddled, takes the bag but still doesn’t know what is going on. While Elio is completely stunned, his face white as a ghost.

\ \ unnerving sharp slashing pitch of knives slicing that resembles critters eerie-chittering / /

“Z, (Spanish curse word), Z!!” Diego calls, as Elio’s knees begins to buckle.

Z snaps out of it and looks at Diego.

“You need to get him out of here,” half-yelling, half-in desperation, Diego urges Z.

“A&E?” Z asks, looking at Elio’s unusual condition. Even though he doesn’t know what is going on, Z senses Elio definitely needs help. Diego shakes his head, then points his finger to his pocket where he normally keeps his phone. Z is still stunned but nods, and places his arm around Elio.

“(Spanish curse words,) guys––, guys––!” Diego raises his hands to them, turning around, “you know every shot you took that has me in it, you can’t use it.”

“Where is he going?” one of them shouts, trying to see where Z is leading him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” one of paparazzi who was doused with Diego’s soft drink asks him tartly.

Diego just clicks his tongue, his peripheral vision making sure Z is safely inside the building with Elio.

“Now, pendejo, pendeja,” Diego begins and points his finger at one of each and says, “(I shit on your whore of a mother),” and repeats the derogatory phrase over and over as if he is a holy father blessing each of them.

.

When Z and Elio arrive at the address Diego sent over, Elio is shaking so much Z worries whether he should have just disregarded what Diego said and went straight to A&E. But once he sees who answered the door, Z sighs.

“I came home as soon as I got the message. Thank you so much,” Oliver bends his knees and threads his arms around Elio.

“Please––, come in,” adds the blond, “tea?”

And Z only ‘ehrrr–’ as he walks in with Diego’s shoulder bag. Because, to Z, seeing Elio like this is seriously a shocking thing. But Oliver being so calm and Diego taking over as if he knew exactly what to do don’t really make sense to his rational brain.

Once all three of them are in, Z notices Oliver pulling Elio close and whispering something in his ear. With the blond’s palm running on the back of the dark curls upper back so softly. Elio slowly blinks (more like flutter) with his eye still closed and Z can tell Elio is mumbling something back.

“Good, very good,” Oliver says quietly, “welcome back, baby, you are safe. You are home.”

Elio stirs and slowly begins to get his feet firmly planted on the floor. His chest heaves and he turns his head before he presses his cheek on Oliver’s shoulder. His mouth appears to be parched. Z hears Oliver explaining what happened to him, how he got home, who brought him here. The way the alpha is assuring his best buddy makes Z to feel calm as well. It takes a little bit more time for Elio to gain back his full usual self. Almost. But when Oliver kisses the hazel eyes on his cheek, before walking away to the kitchen to get themselves some nice tea, Z sees Elio blushing a little.

“Mate, no wonder you wrote that piece for him,” says Z quietly with a lopsided smile.

“…yeah,” Elio begins bashfully, nodding slowly, “I don’t know how I got him,” and scratches his head, nervously.

.

After Z praises how good of a pastry maker Oliver is with three cups of tea, he bids goodnight and goes home.

“What a day–––,” Elio sighs.

“You sure I can’t get you anything else?” his gaze soft, but deeply concerned, Oliver asks the dark curls.

“You heard Z, he is usually not the type who likes the tea cakes but he really did like yours,” answers Elio.

“Well then, can we talk?”

The nonchalance of the blond’s tone makes Elio tilt his head. Is he going to ask about why it happened? Or reprimand me of being so reckless to let myself to be triggered?

Oliver’s eyebrows tips up a little. He is reading me like book again.

“…uhm…, yeah… but, you are making me nervous,” says Elio puffing up his cheeks.

Oliver sucks in a breath meaningfully and sits down on the floor in front of Elio. His legs crossed, his palms on Elio’s shins.

.

Some time passes and Oliver tells Elio about Henry, Elio just folds his legs up close to his chest. His toes are curling in to grip the edge of the chair. Although a summarized version, it is a lot for the omega to take in. And Elio is ever so thankful of how calm, collected, and patient Oliver is. 

“But if uh… if Elena has been taking care of the tabloid and gossip magazine things, why now?”

Oliver takes in a sharp breath through his teeth, his eye brows knitting close.

“There was a shift in the company and because of whatever the politics they are playing internally, my mother’s foundation is at risk of being dismantled.”

Oh, right. The news. And Elio puts the pieces together. The vivid image of Oliver’s broad back, standing tall, BBC news going on. When he and Oliver skyped with Elena, he distincly remembers this look on Oliver’s face when she mentioned the name Chambers.

“You mean your two first cousins. The two heirs of Chambers, the news are talking about—,” Elio has never been much of a fan of watching news but Oliver seemed to tune into the news for the past couple of months.

“Yes, we have been… let’s just say never been cordial,” Oliver’s lips press into a thin line.

Elio doesn’t say anything to that. If Oliver decided that he wants nothing to do with his family business, it is his business. But the fact his two cousins created a reason to qurrel over Oliver’s late mother’s non-profit organization that has been helping children… grates the hazel eyes to his core.

“It’s your mom’s legacy, they can’t just do that,” Elio says with a bit more spite than he intended.

As he has never met any of Oliver’s cousins, the dark curls is aware his negative emotion or the protectiveness he feels towards the blond’s mother’s children’s foundation must be from emotional place rather than logic.

Oliver bursts out into soft chuckles with a warm smile.

“What’s funny?” Elio grumbles with a little pout.

“It’s not. You’re just adorable being fired up.”

“Well, her good-will and good-heart cannot be meddled with because of how your cousins are trying to get more chunk out of your family money. So… what? You need to have a press conference saying that you are no longer hiding under the radar?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes. But…,” Oliver’s words ebbs.

“But, what…?” Elio asks, feeling a little impatient. Of how calm Oliver is. Of his alpha being so careful about what he says. Maybe I want you to be fired up and be so upset about their unthinkable behavior. Elio wants to say.

“Once I am out, my old man will try to put me in charge of the whole company or at least will have me sit where my mom sat.”

“…oh…,” Elio’s shoulder sags. Of course, there are a lot of things I do not know of your world.

“Or I can buy the foundation with the money I saved from books and investments. I might need to take out some loans—.”

“Is it because of me?”

“What is?” asks Oliver with a bit of widened eyes.

“The reason you are hesitating.”

Oliver’s mouth falls open a little, taking in an inaudible breath, “Elio––.”

“Is it because I won’t fit the bill of legitimate mate for your family name’s legacy?”

“Baby––, I just got you. and I don’t care about my family name or its legacy. I’m hesitating because it will be crazy messy journey. Meaning, you’d end up giving up your privacy or anonymity. They will dig anything they can about you, your family.”

“……”

“I just wish that things didn’t come to this but…”

“What do I need to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I want to be with you. Now we are mated, oh, I hate that I’m saying it out loud myself, there’s no way I’m backing out of this relationship. Like you said, we've just started. And I want to preserve your mother’s legacy. So, what do I need to do?”

Oliver’s gaze is soft. His usual studying mode. Piercing blue. Unwavering. For Elio, it seems like forever but the omega is aware he must be patient. Oliver parts his lips and takes an audible breath.

“Are you sure?”

_Am I sure? What a question._

Elio clicks his tongue with a lopsided smile. The alpha’s eyes narrows a little but the edge of his lips tips up.

The dark curls sways as if he is saying, ‘ye of little faith,’ without words. And––

“(Is Pope Catholic?)”

.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Oliver’s morning run on that Monday a few months back**

Oliver runs this morning, thoroughly enjoying a rainless beginning of a day. A guy b-lines in.

“Don’t look, don’t react.”

Oliver glances over and immediately recognizes who the guy is.

“Long time,” Oliver greets him with a small smile. He wants to thank Lewis for making the reunion possible is when he senses something very glum.

“I don’t have much time,” the guy begins, turning his head left and right to make sure two are not being observed, “the case went upstairs. No, no, don’t slow down, keep your stride.”

So, though completely bewildered, Oliver keeps his pace and Lewis continues “listen, the gist is that you guys weren’t supposed to meet on last Thursday and I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“Heads up? What do you mean?”

“It means you two crossed each other’s path in a pure chance. For the third time,” Lewis chuckles wryly as if he cannot believe himself for saying it, “and shit is about to hit the fan so buckle the hell up,” Lewis skillfully begins to part from Oliver’s path before he tosses his final words, “I’ll be in touch,” and disappears stealthily into the other route.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –chapter title from the book by _Heraclitus_  
> .  
> –I used the words of E.E. Cummings in this chapter as if they are written as a dialogue. (between two entities or within a person)  
> Here is the full text/poem/work for those who are interested;   
>  “I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)   
> I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)   
> I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)   
> I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)   
> and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you  
> here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
>  (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows  
> higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)   
> and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart  
> I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)”   
> .  
> –the company name _Ωtnæzöm_ : I am certain some of you already know what I did here (hint: what J.K. Rowling did with ‘the mirror of Erised’).  
> –*filling my lungs determinately* I am thoroughly aware of the heated debate surrounding the terms, ‘counter tenor vs. male soprano.’ But my utilization of the said term is not a reflection of opinion or taking one side over the other.  
> –Darle plantón a alguien sin siquiera llamarle por teléfono es muy feo: Standing someone up without even calling them on the phone is very ugly  
> –Gustav Mahler symphony No.2: if any of you are interested how piano could be incorporated, click [Here](https://youtu.be/mBh_iLwse2Y)(in my head, Z would be playing the second grand) and a little twist, [Cuban Rumba style](https://youtu.be/Axr_9-mOON4)  
> –adagietto: a tempo near that of adagio (slowly) that still remains somewhat ambiguous. Because sometime it is interpreted as slightly slower or other times a little faster.  
> .  
> –Yes, this chapter ties a neat little bow by echoing ‘Elio losing three days.’ But this time, Elio really comes out with a better ending.  
> .  
> As always, Thank \You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Please kindly remember to stay safe and healthy: mind, body, and soul.


	15. For Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of how stressful the whole ordeal has been. Oliver and Elio are planning something, separately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**   
>  Non-linear in full swing _with_ POV flip-flop   
>  [ CAUTION ] expositional

**Chapter Fourteen. For Keep**

Oliver doesn’t know how the press has gotten hold of his information. Before the weekend was over, Oliver’s place is surrounded by vultures; not just by paparazzi but the legitimate journalists as well. Elena’s UK associate Kieran quickly responds to it by filing bunch of legal papers but it’s literally no use. Elio comes to find out why the paps cannot use any pictures they took that has Diego in it. The hazel eyes stands frozen with his mouth parted. Oliver chuckles under his breath. It turns out Diego is the sole heir of _the_ famous porcelain figurine maker in Spain: Sergio de Lugo. Most people think it is just a small company whose family has been making delicate (yet very expensive) ornaments and figurines since 16th century. But Sergio de Lugo actually holds the patent for any and all to do with glass-n-ceramic manufacturing technology (i.e. smartphone touchscreen tempered glass, solar panel crystalline silicon cells, optical fibers, semiconductor system, pharmaceutical-development/refining equipment, etc). There was a special edition of a porcelain figurine created based on (and inspired by) one of Diego’s infant pictures. Hence, the proprietary patent on his mug which has been preventing any paps from selling pictures with him in it.

“Is that why he hates being called ‘Serg’?”

Oliver nods, his eyes pouring out how much he adores Elio’s current state. _It’s better to hear directly from him but a long story short, Diego has been trying to find his own footing away from the family name,_ the blue eyes adds. And the alpha reads the hazel eyes stammering ‘but–, but–’ in his head. So Oliver goes on and replies warmly explaining that Diego is using his father’s old sir name as the said company has long been the matriarchal lineage. Two don’t really say it out loud that since that rainy Thursday, each has been hearing each other (telepathic connection) in their respectable voice instead of their own.

“But still…,” Elio grumbles in hesitation.

Oliver sucks in a breath sharply through his nose before he says, “I know but, just until the end of this term.”

Diego volunteered to come and pick up Elio each day before school (and drop him off after) until they’d sort out their game plan. Though only less than two weeks left, the idea doesn’t settle well with them: especially Elio. Never mind the stress and the pressure of finals.

Oliver sensibly begins asking, “is it because the arrangement makes you feel–”

 _Like a helpless omega? Yes,_ Elio answers in his head, pursing his lower lip a little, and just as quickly, the dark curls goes “urghhh–, please stop apologizing!” as soon as he heard the alpha’s apology in his head and he pivots on his feet getting a bit frustrated at himself, over something he feels he should be more nonchalant about.

“Hey…, hey…, I don’t think of you that way. None what so ever,” the blond coaxes him, his palm already finding its way on Elio’s where his gentling is most effective on making Elio calm. The hazel eyes grumbles something irrecognizibly under his breath, melting into the sensation Oliver’s hand is creating on his skin.

.

\ “a breaking news, a never before seen legal battle began in Chambers group with its own private children’s foundation LIFT (Love Inspire Flourish Together). A class action lawsuit was filed in California today. The worldwide LIFT beneficiaries and members as the plaintiff…” \

–x–x–x–

(excerpt of an interview) \ “… when my father was in hospital fighting stage four cancer, LIFT provided me a safe place to study while my mother was working double shift to pay the hospital bills. Because public libraries and schools close after ten. And she couldn’t afford a baby sitter.” \

(opposing panel speaker) \ “This is ridiculous. The goody-two-shoes criminal lawyer turned to represent the entire eco-system, only less than a few years ago. Now we are litigating a case by a private children’s foundation as a whole, representing yet-to-be needing children? Talk about the entitlement this millennials and social media generation are forcing down our throats. What about the freedom to do business? What was so wrong on making corporate decision to decommission their own private foundation? This is beyond outrageous.” \

–x–x–x–

Even a tabloid in U.S. gotten hold of a picture of Diego and Elio getting into a cab and ran it as a scandal with a big headline, ‘Is Elio Perlman the Italian omega double dipping with two different alphas?’ The article was groundless fiction stating a reliable source of some ridiculous insider knowledge that Elio is actually one of those rare exclusive elitist sugar-baby: the one who gets paid half a million for a single night.

–x–x–x–

(excerpt of an interview) \ “we were evicted from the apartment when our legal guardian was caught dealing drugs, on top of being late on paying rant and overdue utility bills, me and my sister were told that we’d be separated to another different foster homes. If it wasn’t for LIFT, I don’t know what I would have done. So it was only natural for me to put my name on the law suit.” \

–x–x–x–

\ “the now famous ‘from nothing to rich’ self-build entrepreneur from Singapore Sienna Chauw held a press conference—and the announcement in her company’s webpage—that she too is supporting LIFT’s lawsuit and their position, early this afternoon, local time. … ‘as a beneficiary of LIFT program, we and the community recognize and respect what the foundation has been providing for us. Not just shelter and food to the nooks and crannies of places where no government could possibly encompass and embrace, LIFT has consistently provided the children in need of helping hand without asking any in return. We will stand by not only the foundation but all the children who are and will Love, Inspire, Flourish because of LIFT. And together we will stand until we win LIFT’s independence from the Chambers group… .’ The issue lies in the fact that Oliver Chambers being both the designated director of current foundation and the majority shareholder of Chambers Group who has elected to stay under the radar for the past few years…” \

–x–x–x–

(Channel Four with Nancy Drew) \ “…Today, we are trying to get a glimpse of how the life of a Chambers’ heir was like, by interviewing his ex-lover, Henry. ‘Thank you, Henry, for agreeing to this interview.’ ‘It’s my pleasure, Nancy, I can call you Nancy, right?’ … \

.

**Oliver**

Imagine your own life being viewed, judged, and heaven’s forbid, narrated by the information collected, collated, and quantified by the prying eyes—by those whom had no business whatsoever to begin with. Nothing but the speculative, inflammatory, contemptuous, misdirecting, alphabet soup of mumbo-jumbo, filled with ulterior motives. Something that would benefit in the world of fiction and amongst conspiracy circles. Utter nonsense.

The question is never about _Us_ as a couple, but more on how we respond as a unit. I wondered whether we… no–, _I_ would let this as a test of our relationship. Weathering the storm, most people would say. Of which my Elio had nothing to do with from the first place. Was I naïve to think that I could lead a life away from the binds of the family name I was born into?

Because, Elio choosing me as his mate in this day and age is not something that I can just will myself to overcome. Unlike the time when my mother passed, I cannot just ride this wave through silence or hiding in a plain sight. Nor it's not something I could simply handle by putting on a well-veneered face as if it were all a ruse for an elaborate scheme which is often done by those of my kind. The very thought of it, though, makes me sick to my stomach. Above all, bitter taste in my mouth it automatically creates is beyond revolting. All the while, I as an alpha have never even thought about having an omega as a lifelong partner. Given the possibility of meeting an omega by a pure chance is astronomically rare, I guess I have been very uneducated and unprepared. Yet, on that evening in Paris, just following where my feet were leading me, was the beginning of all this. If what Lewis has told me is true, this soulmate thing truly is something of a marvel. I would be lying if I say I have not been tempted to throw off the guilt and doubt that has been brewing deep, regardless of how stark the reality of our situation is. A blissful ignorance certainly has its stubborn lure as I am now faced with countless contracting emotions. The emotions I didn’t know that has long been instilled innately in me.

Elio somehow sparked a movement in social media about the greed of juggernaut corporation threatening the private children’s foundation without him intending to. I thought the lesson Gen-Z suffered on their love-you-to-death-but-hate-your-guts affair with social media has irreparably shifted the overall trend during the still heavily debated pandemic a few years back. I guess as with anything, evolution and metamorphosis for survival are a powerful thing.

The dean and the school being quite understanding of my predicament came as an additional surprise. He chuckled when he mentioned in passing that if he knew that I had such a formidable blood-line, he'd more than likely have introduced me to his grand-daughter. I know it was a joke but for some reason I hung on to that comment the whole afternoon that day, unable to shake it off from my brain. How easy it was for a perception to change and shift that quickly, so radically, blew my mind. The next day, I sat down with the university’s public relations and marketing team whether I should take some time off so the institution wouldn’t get entangled in all this drama. But their answer was simple. Quite astounding, as a matter of fact. The gist was ‘noise marketing.’ By standing firm on their decision that I have been recruited and employeed as a full-time teaching staff based on my merits and expertise none from the namesake or other influences, they proudly stated, proves and will continue to demonstrate that this collegiate establishment not only has its own rigorous proven review/hiring process but also their independent and honorable non-discriminatory tradition that upholds the sanctity of true education.

“This is not the first rodeo our institution had to go through with media, professor,” the senior member of the board informed me the following Friday afternoon, “our first and foremost goal is to always espouse the integrity and the dignity of any higher education provider should. With our own sovereignty.”

I said my thanks to each board member before they part ways. A brunette female beta who appeared to be one of the members’ aid called out to him with a soft smile.

“Professor, someone left this for you while you were in the meeting. He said you would know from whom,” and handed Oliver a linen envelop.

.

It takes a bit more persuasion for Elio to agree to spend the holiday season away from the entire squall, in Lake District. The smattering gossip popping up everywhere about him and his family is the one that does it. Despite the fact that I begrudgingly agreed on not-celebrating his 22nd birthday back in late November.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Elio reasoned, “I love my birthday but I have projects to do and composition to finish and final will be on my mind really soon. It’s just… .”

Elio has always been a walking contradiction, and his mood changes quickly from being an energized bunny to this melancholic suffering artist without any particular reason.

“A dinner, I’ll make anything you want.”

Elio hesitated.

“I know mine is never Mafalda’s.”

“Stop that. I hate when you do that,” Elio pursed his lips.

So adorable. Call me hopeless but I blame all this to me being googly eyed; on top of being a joyful half of a mated pair excreting pair-bond enhancing hormones.

“Oh, you’re such a perv. Doesn’t matter what I do, does it? All you think about is–.”

I picked him up and carried him to our bedroom. I loved the way Elio squeal-giggled, pretending to resist, saying ‘unhand me you brute!’ until I plopped us on our bed. I _absolutely_ loved every. single. moment.

After our first go-around that afternoon, Elio promised me to celebrate Vimini’s (two have the same birthday). And, I agreed without any objections.

“No cakes, absolutely no neurotic obnoxious ‘happy happy birthay–’ song thing.”

“Deal.”

*

Unbeknownst to Oliver then, his introductory classes for the following term will attract twice the usual registration average. Not to mentions more requests for the blond to do the talks, interviews, seminars and guest appearances.

. 

**A couple of days before Christmas | London, UK**

Diego grumbles something under his breath with the usual string of Spanish curse words and Elio simply lets out a subdued sigh without much reaction. Once Oliver told Elio about himself and how things have been with his family, Elio spent many waking hours trying to figure out what to do. The dark curls knew he had to do something but everything was new to him. One thing led to another, Diego and Elio sat down to talk after one of the weekend practice sessions. As the hazel eyes didn’t know much of the world of Oliver’s, he figured it would be wise to talk to someone both he and Oliver knew. And Elio discovered that Diego is more than capable of making his crazy idea possible.

“Are you sure?” Elio asked while Diego gnawed at the inside of his cheek.

‘yes, yes, yes,’ his Spaniard friend answered with a bit of exasperation. The omega sensed there is something going on but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

The cab driver is trying to lighten the mood by saying something about the weather and such. Diego doesn’t miss a beat to toss a passive-aggressive comment to the jolly driver to shut the hell up. But Elio interjects in time to soften Diego’s rude mouth from running on and on. Once the cab arrives to a location, Elio tips him generously.

“I’m still keeping his plate number and driver information, just so you know,” Diego remarks, straightening his jumper.

Elio gives him a closed lips smile, which is really not a smile-smile. The dark curls is very tense. He’s never seen Diego this edgy. Potty mouth, yes. Bossy with a bit of entitlement, yes. But never this. Diego walks on ahead, fussing with his hair for god knows for what reason and fidgeting as if the things he is wearing suddenly became a size too small. He clears his throat before punching in the key code. The hazel eyes stands two steps behind him taking in what-was-already-explained-to-him in real life. According to Diego, this place belongs to him. It was commissioned by his grandmother once he turned three. And not only this place is not listed in any public records but only those who have access codes can enter. Diego swears under his breath saying something that he doesn’t like coming to this place. Elio wants to tell him if it is too much trouble for him they can turn around, telling him he’ll think of something or maybe talk to Oliver. But Elio knows he would be lying. At the same time, the dark curls wonders why Diego doesn’t like coming here.

The heavy door opens up with multiple unlatching sound and Diego dumps out his chest before taking the first step inside. Elio follows him behind.

“I uh… I don’t come here often,” Diego explains. And Elio catches Diego’s eyes shifting a little. Is it reticence or discomfort?

“Kitchen is upstairs, guest bathroom down the hall, uhm… I think we are early.”

The place is over-the-top postmodern design. Smoothed out bare bone concrete with top of the line high-tech. Room lights up as Elio walks into the living room. The AI voice announces in Spanish.

“Mute,” Diego commands, “ehrr… make yourself at home. Here’s remotes for TV and… stuff. Ehrr… I’m gonna grab something from the kitchen, you want anything?”

Elio simply blinks. When he is about to say, ‘water is fine,’ Diego beats him to a punch and says, “yeah, I know, agua,” before disappearing up the steps.

The dark curls walks to the floor to ceiling living room window to find the immaculately manicured backyard. Patio furniture is covered; the tiles and the floor are well-taken care of; something that looks like a half size swimming pool also has an automated cover. No wonder Diego said this place will be safe, Elio mulls the thought. His thought drifts to imagine how it would be like to live in a place like this. Then, he contemplates what it would be like to actually live with Oliver.

Maybe Elio drifted into his thought too far, the distant sound of stiletto startles him. The soft clack after a clack echoes as though someone is walking in with familiarity and ease. Unhurried. Then, just as quickly, the hazel eyes thought goes to, ‘wait, how did she get in?’ is when he hears her voice.

“Hello, Diego. It’s been a while.”

When Elio turns around, Diego is standing in the middle of the steps, completely frozen. The voice belongs to a person Elio had only met via video conference. Just like through Oliver’s laptop screen, Elena’s hair is swept over to her left. And her voluptuous hour glass shaped body is hugged in a high-end designer suit over a just below knee A-line skirt.

.

**Same day | Inside a warehouse across town | London, UK**

Richman glances irately at Lewis, who stands by himself off the side, keeping his eyes down. The suits stare back in silence for a moment, then turn back to talking amongst themselves at a lower volume. Oliver is sitting on a foldable chair in the middle of what looks like a warehouse; clean and well-built that can turn into various functions in no time.

"What are my options?" asks Richman.

"The questions will burn in him till the day he dies. You'll have to monitor him constantly," replies Burdensky.

"Can you reset him?" asks Richman.

"I don't think we have the authority in a situation like this," replies McCrady.

"Call legal–," Richman doesn't get a chance to finish his words, “and find out when Thompson is going to–.”

"Legal just arrived," Burdensky says from the other two's eleven o'clock, a middle age man in a pin-stripe suit, carrying a briefcase. He walks to Richman.

"Re-setting's off the table. This is beyond our level."

“Then, why the fuck are you here?” Richman says tartly.

Yet, no one is wondering why Oliver is unexpectedly quiet. Usually, people who are put in this situation goes nuts with ‘hello!?’ and ‘where am I?’ and ‘what are you doing to me?’s.

Richman turns to Lewis, “did you mute him?”

“I did,” the low commanding voice echoes from the far left.

“Thompson,” McCrady gasps his name.

“Richman, if I remember correctly?” Thompson strides to men gathered in the right.

The man everyone recognizes as Thompson is in his impeccable suit. His hair is grey yet combed neatly exuding the man in his 60s with class and taste. Unlike others, Thompson’s suit is neither vintage nor current trend. He appears to have an expert amalgamation of 90s and Victorian style. And unlike other fedora men in this place, he has a burgundy wool scarf around his neck. Oliver also notices that there is no one out of shape. Maybe they are this supernatural beings.

“Not exactly,” Thompson says in the middle of the conversation, glancing towards Oliver’s direction, “we do not indulge like rest of the population.”

Oliver swallows. A few more hushed conversation continues and everyone else except Thompson walk out of the warehouse via different doors. Lewis gives Oliver a concealed glance before he puts his fedora on his head and turns the door know counterclock-wise.

“Is it your up-brining-ing? Or are you always this calm?” Thompson begins.

Oliver simply blinks, looking straight into Thompson’s eyes.

Thompson’s head cocks minutely to his left and he takes off his fedora hat and gracefully tucks it under his left arm. And he lifts his two fingers and gives a light wave. Oliver’s mouth parts open and takes in a large breath.

“Interesting,” Thompson states, his eyes narrowing a little, studying Oliver.

Oliver stares back at him, his throat bobbing slow.

“My name is Thompson.”

“What happened to Free Will?” the blond asks pointedly.

“Who said anything about Free Will?” Thompson replies, “are you trying to charm me with your all state speech and debate tournament champion skills, Professor?”

The piercing blue eyes do not waver. So, Thompson squares his jaw and fills his lungs.

“You know, we actually tried Free Will before. After taking you from hunting and gathering to the height of the Roman Empire we stepped back to see how you'd do on your own. You gave us the Dark Ages—for _five_ centuries—until finally we decided we should come back in.

The Chair thought maybe we just needed to do a better job of teaching you how to ride the bicycle before we took the training wheels off again. So we gave you the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, the Scientific Revolution. We spent six hundred years tempering your passions with reason then in 1910 we stepped back again. Within fifty years you brought us World War I, the Depression, Fascism, the Holocaust, and capped it off by bringing the entire planet to the brink of destruction in the Cuban Missile Crisis. It didn't end there, did it? Vietnam, Middle East Crisis, 911, Afghanistan war, Greek Debt Crisis, 2008 bank bailout followed by recession. So a decision was taken at that point that we should step in again before you did something even we couldn't fix.”

Thompson rather forlornly lifts his chin up a little and he takes in an audible breath, “imagine our disappointment that this earth is not on its first run,” then he pushes his right hand into his pantsuit pocket and bends his left arm at the elbow: looking pensive. Thompson draws a slow circle after another with his thumbpad over his other four, “you don't have Free Will, Oliver, you have the appearance of Free Will.”

“Hmm,” Oliver almost rolls his eyes, “you expect me to believe that?”

“Ahh... even a person who has the astute knowledge of Sumerian and Mayan technology and their culture. Alas, it is in the end what you choose to believe.”

Though his tone very mild and measured, Oliver knows he is being mocked.

“If you are in control of our lives, then doesn't it tell you that you are incompetent? Because when I look around at the world these days it seems pretty fucked. Case in point, the recent pandemic?”

The corner of Thompson’s lips quirks up with a wry smile, “well, that was done by someone who was trying to prove a point. Unfortunately for you, it got out of hand. And the middle management thought that the earth can unload some of the population off its back.”

Heartless, Oliver thinks to himself.

“Heartless you say? Human beings are the only species killing for sport and leisure. What about the hunger and famine where there has been more than enough to go around? In your so called first world countries, tons and tons of foods are being wasted and thrown away each day. With your human intelligence, you drove 99 percent of the population of your own species into mindless consumption. At one hand, is it that you collectively thought innovation and technology are great even when you knew the very device connects each of you to the whole world is made from the back of unfairly treated labor that are from children and new-age slavery called prison?

While so called heroes you have come to worship are all counterfeits; from one who owned a denture made of our black slave’s teeth, to those lie, cheat, and steal to win so called sports and race. Spamming each other with your running commentary of bullshit, masquerading as insight, your social media faking as intimacy. Or is it that you proudly voted for all this marvel? Not with the rigged elections, but with your things, your property, your money. Generation after generation you all have always known. All this is nothing new, you all know why you humans do this. Not because bestseller books and blockbuster movies make you happy but because you want to be sedated. Because it’s painful not to pretend. You have Free Will over what tie you pick in the morning, or what beverage to order at lunch. But humanity just isn't mature enough to have control over the important things. Most importantly, the earth is still here. If we'd left things in your hands, it wouldn't be.”

Oliver thinks it’s quite an observation. Then, again, if what Thompson just said a moment before his calm-n-collected diatribe (about the management stepping in), all the charade of human kind currently playing out is also in their so-called _Plan_. The blue eyes scoffs in his head, remembering what Lewis notes said, and gathers himself.

“Why are you keep trying to pull me and Elio apart? Or are you just another one who doesn't really know?"

Thompson studies Oliver a long breath. Yes, he did catch Oliver’s subtle back-hand move of calling him a lackey: a pawn. So, he decides it's time to level with him.

"We put Elio in front of you two years ago to inspire you to become the person that you have become. An intervention."

"Are you saying you intentionally had Elio go through that for my sake?"

"Come now, Oliver. The chair's decision is never just about you. Elio also needed to go through such experience to become this century's best pianist."

“Experience?! You call that an experience??” Blood boils inside of Oliver and the alpha’s eyes tinge in bright red.

Thompson grins to himself—not overtly though not hiding it either—as he finally figured out the blond’s button.

“A man of philosophy suddenly having trouble grasping the relativity of such terms. How unoriginal. The intricate web of interconnected nature of each and every human being alive in this earth extends more than just your lovey-dovy emotion towards Elio. Him being born as an omega, on top of not having proper scenting glands to attract his mate, has made Elio Perlman the way he is. The depthless emptiness, the longing for someone to recognize him, the anguish over the glaring reality that he will never be mated propels him to be the greatest concert pianist of this age. He will be revered; not just this life but centuries to come. You can't outrun your fate, Oliver.”

“Who said anything about running? And when have you become religious?”

“Maybe we should just reset you,” Thompson says in ‘you are giving me no choice’ tone.

“We both know if that was the case, we wouldn't be here having this conversation.”

"You fight us, we will take everything from you."

"Everything? You already did, twice. And I'm still standing. Why? now you are gonna tell me your chair has taken my mom from me for my own good? If it’s the money, the namesake, the status you’re talking about, you know that’s just an idle threat."

Thompson’s jaw muscles bulge as he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. Two men are staring at one another without a blink.

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –The Happy Happy birthay song Elio is talking about: [example](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGM4CAygnnQ)  
> –Yes, Elena and Diego have their own backstory and the place Diego offered to host Elio and Elena’s meet without Oliver knowing has a link to those two’s saga. How in-depth this transcriber-me is going to present, I haven’t decided yet. *thinking, mulling*  
> .  
> –What Lewis’ note said:  
> “Thou, constrained by no limits, in accordance with thine own free will, in whose hand We have placed thee, shalt ordain for thyself the limits of thy nature. We have set thee at the world’s center that thou mayest from thence more easily observe whatever is in the world. We have made thee neither of heaven nor of earth, neither mortal nor immortal, so that with freedom of choice and with honor, as though the maker and molder of thyself, thou mayest fashion thyself in whatever shape thou shalt prefer.”  
> by Pico della Mirandola, _Oration on the Dignity of Man_ (1486)  
> .  
> –Thompson’s dialogue is a cocktail mix out of _Adjustment Bureau_ and _Mr. Robot_. I own nothing.  
> –I’m sending my gratitude and kudos for those who caught Thompson in this chapter doesn’t know Oliver and Elio are mated and that Oliver has a keen sense of smell which enables him to recognize Elio’s scent. It’s a clap-back to what Lewis said on _Pont des Arts_ in chapter 11.  
> .  
> As always, Thank you for reading, your time and interest.  
> No matter how crazy the world around us spins, do please hold on and center yourselves. And please kindly take care of you. Your sound mind and compassionate heart be the light for not just your own well-being but also those you love and care. If not for anything, please remember I’m always rooting for you with two fluffy and enormous pom-poms.


	16. Intemperance

**Chapter Fifteen. Intemperance**

“Never make nice, never fall for his bait, careful what you think in front of him,” Lewis said under his breath as he led Oliver through the door.

After receiving the note, Oliver knew Lewis would make a disguised appearance. Just like the last time in Paris, Lewis blended in so well amongst the sleep deprived first year uni students. No matter the institution, the scenery of the finals week of each term generally are the same.

Oliver couldn’t discern how long he was being held inside this undisclosed warehouse. The guy introduced himself as Thompson went on and on about how the world has been in their carefully crafted _Plan_. Yet, he failed to give Oliver any straight answer as to why these men are keep trying to pull Oliver and Elio apart.

“It's 6:20 in the afternoon. If you leave now, you will jump into a cab, taking everything in, going over the things I've said over and over in your head–”

Right at that moment Thompson mentioned the time, Oliver’s gaze dropped to check his wrist watch just to find the needles were stuck pointing at the same time of when Lewis walked him through the door. Thompson observed the blond’s such action without stopping his speech. Only faint hint of satisfied grin appeared on the old man’s face at Oliver’s realization.

“Elio will be waiting for you at your flat. You will try to put this experience behind you by acting as though everything is fine. Yet, you and Elio will continue to be bombarded with rumors, gossips, groundless accusations. The pressure will soon boil over. As you are well aware, a single encounter with paparazzi has triggered Elio’s PTSD. Isn’t that why you enlisted Diego’s help hoping to buy sometime before your precious Elena and her team of legal associates to step in?”

Oliver didn’t respond right away. Thompson takes a measured step or two, putting his hands on the small of his back.

“Mhmm, so let me get this straight. You crush our dreams because they don't fit with your so called _Plan_ yet none of you know what that is. And your _Plan_ that has no space for me falling in love but somehow has room for Tsunamis and cyclones and genocide and AIDS and pandemic. You are still firm on believing that everything is under control. When your seeming nihilistic fundamentalist threats don’t work in your favor, you try so hard to get to the person at question by playing dirty tricks of undermining people.”

Thompson simply huffed with a mild smile, “did it get to you?”

“I don’t believe in repeating myself,” Oliver replied sternly, “you’ve already tried TWICE. So, either you reset or erase me. Better yet, kill me,” It was not a dare, the blue eyes meant it. A dangerous glare flashed in the alpha’s eyes before he ended with, “If not, let me go.”

Thompson let out a long sigh through his nose staring back at Oliver for a long while. Oliver didn’t budge. The older man tilted his head and the blond felt the change in his body. His eyes darted a little before he pressed the bottom of his shoes. Oliver was able to get up off the chair. Once Oliver straightened himself, Thompson simply waved his hand and the door on the far right clacked ajar. Oliver’s throat waved hard; though his poker face was on its full swing, the blond was clearly nervous.

Thompson took in a breath through his nose before he said, “when you look back at all this, Oliver, just remember, we tried to reason with you.”

Oliver sat his jaws before he started walking towards the door. The whole time, the alpha was hearing his heartbeat right in his ears. A step before he was out of the warehouse, Oliver glanced back. As he suspected, the inside of warehouse was completely empty: no Thompson, no chair.

.

How ironic it is for Oliver to find himself standing on the street five blocks from his house. No one on the street is paying attention to where he came out from. When the blond flicks his wrist, his watch is indicating exactly 6:20 pm. That is the moment Oliver breaks out into a run. The dress shoes are never meant for running but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about how the rest of grades he was scheduled to submit this afternoon, including the smattering of other responsibilities. He doesn’t care why he isn’t even wearing his jacket, in this weather. He’s aware he doesn’t have his keys, his phone, probably his wallet. Oliver just runs, at his full speed. Because all he can think about is Elio. And Thompson said Elio would be waiting for him at home. The rest he doesn't care; doesn't give a damn. Misty puff fogs up right up at his face and dissipates quickly as he runs on.

A neighbor is coming out of the front entrance of his building and Oliver barely responds with a fleeting greeting before he hurries up the stairs, ignoring what his neighbor is saying at the back of his head. His eyes feel like they are burning; Oliver rubs at them dismissively with his fingers as he turns the corner into his floor’s the short corridor. He is out of breath: his hair all messed up. Once he reaches his door, he frantically turns the knob before he knocks four times. There is no answer. No, no, no, no, Oliver mutters under his breath anxiously. And swiftly, he reaches his hand above the frame of his front door and flips the trim molding at the corner. His fingers draw in a spare key into his grip, out of the small hide-away compartment within. Oliver’s hands are trembling, catching his breath. He has trouble putting the key in the first time. The alpha curses under his breath. Once the key is in, he turns the knob in urgency. If Elio isn’t here, how do I contact him? is the first thing comes to Oliver’s head. With distinct beep-beep, the front door unlocks. The blond walks in, his eyes darting in a bit of frenzy, looking for the sign of Elio. To his surprise, Oliver finds his belongings he left at his office are near the foyer in their usual place, as if he just brought them in. Panting hard, as a large sweat bead draws a line on his face, the blue eyes cocks his head. Everything is where they should be: his keys are in the bowl of the entrance table, next to his phone, his briefcase on the floor leaning against the legs of the table. He doesn’t even bother to check inside the small closet he keeps his outerwear and umbrellas in. Oliver swallows hard, rather dismissively wiping the sweat from his forehead, as he walks in further.

“Baby, you home?” the blue eyes calls out as measuredly as possible.

No answer. He cannot seem to find any sign of Elio in the living room. The alpha steps towards the other side of the first floor. Why? he doesn’t know. _Thompson is playing with your head, calm the fuck down_ , Oliver tells himself in his head. _Elio is probably practicing at school and he always comes home by nine_. _Get into the shower and clear your head._ Just then, he remembers he is incredibly thirsty. So, with a deep frown between his eyebrows, Oliver walks to the kitchen.

That’s when he sees Elio standing in front of the kitchen counter with his headset on. Completely in the moment of his own little world; with his quirky nonchalance, enjoying himself. The hazels eyes appears to be making his go-to nut-butter-n-jelly and ham sandwich—wearing Oliver’s pastel blue shirt, two sizes too big for Elio. Strangely, instead of relief of seeing him safe at home, Oliver feels the hot rush of blood pulling around his nether in a lightning speed. Oliver’s body dumps out his lungs with a huge exhale. Right there, on his inhale, Elio’s scent hits his nose hard. _Fuck!!_

It actually started two days ago that Oliver began noticing the changes in the dark curls' scent. And the alpha never imagined being the only one who can truly smell Elio would ever become such a quandary. First, the blue eyes debated whether to tell his omega about this. _Wouldn’t he know in some way about the change in his body_? the voice echoed in Oliver’s head. Considering what has been happening for the past few months, Oliver figured he ought to shrug it off and made a mental note to talk with Elio before their trip to Lake District. It was very subtle anyways. The change was more of an accentuation of three major notes of Elio’s scent. Time felt as though it slipped through his fingers and the next day came in a blink of an eye. Peculiarly, the blue eyes didn’t sense any recognition from Elio about his own physiological change. There was this offbeat sense of relief in Oliver. Who knew out of all days today is the day he was going to get napped away by those men? Though Oliver is glad that Lewis was the one who led him into the situation but… this is not how the blond wished things to play out between him and Elio.

Everything is already heightened. His trusted runner’s heart thumps aloud in his ears. Oliver hears his own breathing as if he is wearing a helmet: two beats too fast. Maybe its stress that has been building up; maybe Thompson orchestrated all this. But it feels a lot like something Oliver cannot afford to give in. Because it is terribly ill-timed. Because the alpha has always imagined that he would be the exception to the raging rut. Because he never truly experienced what it feels like to be in one. Yet he is agonizingly conscious on the fact that he cannot go against his biology. A growl rumbles deep from his chest as he teetters on the edge, holding desperately onto his sanity. Yes, he is going into a rut and there is no denying it. Oliver squares his jaw, his knuckles turning white. Another woosh of Elio’s scent bombards the alpha’s nose. The blond’s body visibly shudders. His instinct leads him to react without thinking: the alpha parts his mouth and sucks in the air. And the invisible molecules of Elio’s delectable scent knock the roof of Oliver’s mouth. The sensation comes almost like a whiplash; the blond’s eyes roll over showing whites of his eyes, his mouth watering. Excitement ripples through hard on every muscle, bone, and sinew of his body.

The alpha almost stomps over to Elio and snakes his arms around him without announcing himself. The hazel eyes’ body jumps a little but he leans his head back as Oliver nuzzles his nose. The blue eyes is relieved of Elio’s receptiveness.

“Did you run home?” Elio asks affectionately, teasing him a little, and takes his headphone off with his palms, being careful not to smudge his ham-juice-n-jam-n-nut-buttered fingers over it.

Oliver lays an open mouth kiss on the crook of Elio’s neck.

“Oh~,” the hazel eyes muses, catching on the alpha’s intent. And he senses Oliver is running a degree or two higher than usual. Elio hears Oliver breathing out long hot sigh through his nose, his alpha’s taut arms winding possessively around his waist. “Ohhh! Someone missed me a lot today,” adds Elio playfully once he feels the blond’s bulge between his butt cheeks. With a wide grin, his hands deftly directioned outward to either side, the omega turns around in the blue eyes' embrace.

Oliver peppers his lips on Elio’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheek in a quick succession, while his hands bring in the hazel eye’s opened forearms. Elio giggles low once Oliver’s lips reach under the spot between his earlobe and his neck.

“…hey~, my hands still have–”

Before he finishes, Oliver’s hands capture Elio’s palms into his gentle grip and he guides the dark curls’ fingers into his mouth. Though beaming with a warm smile, Elio’s eyes widen witnessing the way his alpha sucking off his fingers so ravenously one by one. Oliver’s eyes flutter close, his chest rising and falling fast, moaning extra slow and low. Elio cannot help but to gasp at the sight as he is letting Oliver do his bidding. Once the blond is satisfied, with his eyes still closed, he holds Elio’s hands over his and nuzzles his cheek on the middle of the palms. The blond lashes tremble as Oliver sighs out a hot exhale slow before he presses his lips languidly on each side. The hazel eyes too is breathing in the same beat, (a good sign for this mated pair as their bodies are instinctively syncing with one another without them trying consciously) feeling all he can do is to just allow Oliver do whatever he wants. The alpha has Elio’s palms cup his face. And the dark curls’ eyes dart from left to right then to left. Oliver moans out a low-slung exhalation when Elio slides his hands along the side of the alpha’s neck, cupping the outline of his throat. The omega’s thumbs find Oliver’s steady strong pulse there. With his gentle grip on Elio’s wrist, his hair falling over his eyes, Oliver slowly lifts his gaze.

“Oliver… your eyes––.”

To Elio’s surprise, the blond screws his eyes shut as if he is doing something forbidden, terribly malevolent. Sure, Elio indeed is nervous because he has never seen Oliver like this before. But he is keenly aware that it’s not something Oliver should feel in such way. They are mated. Elio _wanted_ him to be his mate. The blue eyes wanting him this way shouldn’t make him feel as such, no matter the circumstances. And the omega wants Oliver to know this. So Elio slides his hands across Oliver’s shoulders. The alpha’s eyes flutter close as he rolls his head to the side slow. And a shaky breath billows out through his parted lips before he nods twice. Oliver’s nostrils flare as a tremor ripples through him. Elio’s pupils dilate; his eyes darting nervously.

“Am I…?” the dark curls asks with a mixture of anxiety and excitement.

Oliver simply crashes his open mouth over Elio’s lips as he threads his open palms around Elio’s face, cupping his jaw. The way the blond kisses him says all there is to say—as if the only thing he has been craving is Elio’s lips, as if Oliver has been away for a long while, as if his lips and tongue are the only thing make sense to Oliver. Two are panting heavy, gasping for air, trying so hard not to separate, forgetting their agreement about ‘no making out in the kitchen for sanitary reason.’ Just as quickly, the blue eyes strong hands find their way around Elio’s waist and lifts Elio up on the counter,

_B–but–, your shirt, the jam and–_

The alpha breathes him in as he swirls his tongue over Elio’s.

 _Oliver–, I–, I don’t–, I–, I haven’t had my–_ , the omega tries to protest. Because he is afraid. Because a rut as a concept innately carries an unexplained level of fear factor embedded in it. Yet, his eyes roll up, feeling his body melting like a butter left out in the sun.

 _Stop thinking!_ The blue eyes rumbles his chest. And he grazes his teeth over Elio’s skin right under his jaw line before peppering one possessive kiss after another. The hazel eyes’ hands cling on to Oliver’s body. The alpha relentlessly runs his palm and splayed fingers over Elio’s clothed skin. The omega lets out a breathy hot moan. Oliver kneads the side of Elio’s thighs and the hazel eyes ever so pliantly opens his thighs for Oliver. The blond steps in closer.

 _Can we_ _–_ Elio begins but Oliver hoists him up before he finishes asking. The hazel eyes leans forward and wraps his arms tight around the blue eyes neck, as the alpha turns them around to head to the bedroom.

.

 _Off, and off, and off_ , Oliver repeats in his head as his clumsy hands try to get what Elio has on off of him. Two didn’t even make it to the bedroom. They are in the hall way only few paces from the master bedroom. The omega, with his back flushed against the wall, tightens his straddle around Oliver’s waist, his heels digging into the small of alpha’s back. He too is hurrying his trembling hands to get the blond out of his clothes. Getting each other's shirt off their bodies doesn’t seem to go as plan. It’s clumsy. Arms are struggling to be released from the fabric. Two are clearly fumbling yet neither of them lets go of each other’s lips.

Once they manage to free themselves from their upper garment, Elio’s shaky hands fare well enough to unbuckle Oliver’s belt and zip down his suit pants open, still kissing Oliver. The blue eyes separates their lips and tongues with a distinctly loud kissing noise. Elio’s head leans forward, chasing after the blond’s lips, with a whine protesting the sudden separation. The upper lip of the alpha waves heavenwards with a low growl in anticipation and profound arousal, showing his teeth. And the blond envelops his torso forward and Elio clings to him, nuzzling his cheek over Oliver’s, closing his eyes. The alpha feels hazel eyes’ long lashes fluttering lightly against his skin as the omega lazily rolls his temple against Oliver’s. A lopsided grin colors on the blue eyes' face at that feline-like gesture. But Oliver doesn’t slow down and proceeds to shimmy himself out of his pants (and his form-fitting boxer shorts), fishing his foot out one at a time, before kick-tossing the bunched up clothing to the side. And he adjusts Elio so his bare erection is aligned over the dark curls’ bulge. The alpha’s hip moves in slow thrusts, their mouth flushed together, sucking each other’s lips, lolling their tongues together. Soon a small warm dewdrop flower blooms on the thin fabric between them from the inside. Elio lets out a content whine through his nose, before he breathlessly whispers,

“…Fuck me–, Elio,” into Oliver’s mouth. The alpha breathes out a shuddering sigh through his nose.

The blond widens his stance and Elio tucks in his pelvis forward, pushing his upper back further against the wall. Sweat sheen skin on his back slides up without much friction. And two finally get themselves completely naked. Almost, as Elio’s shorts still hangs on his left ankle. Oliver bends his knees in a light horse stance and positions his swollen erection bobbing heavily under Elio’s thigh. While the hazel eyes tries to kick his shorts off his ankle, his hands pawing for skin, the closeness, as he clings to Oliver’s broad stature. It doesn’t take much to align his leaky head onto the omega’s welcoming round rim. His undercarriage is already wet with generous amount of sweet slick. Oliver reaches down and runs the tips of three fingers: just to feel and entice Elio. And Oliver pushes in and Elio’s head tilts back, his mouth letting out a satisfied low drawn out grunt. The alpha sighs out a hot heavy breath, grinning widely at the sensation of Elio’s tight body engulfing him. The blond eyes flash darkly and he buries his face on the crook of Elio’s neck.

Ngh, ngh, ngh, resonates in their hallway as Oliver drives his cock into Elio. And the omega claws in blunt fingertips on Oliver’s upper back. The alpha licks and suckles on the omega’s scenting gland, breathing heavy through his nose. The shear speed and the vigor of how Oliver pummels Elio is unprecedented between them. It’s exhilarating; it’s new. Both are running high on their mixed cocktail of heat-rut hormones. With parched mouth and laxed jaw, Elio simply repeats, _don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop_ , in bated breath _._ It turns out the rutting alpha Oliver is a machine. And the copious slick only enables him more once Oliver gives into his pure basal desire. His palms pressed firmly on either side of Elio’s head against the wall, the blond drives his hips into the dark curls’ body on and on.

.

Their noses gently rub each other’s. Elio cups Oliver’s face. The blond kisses him slowly, his eyes half-mast. Two are kneeling on the bed. Not a string on their body; their chests bellowing, this time only a beat faster. The hazel eyes moans as if he is half asleep and Oliver places his fingers over his kiss swollen lips. Elio kisses his fingertips as the alpha draws the pads over; right to left, then to right, then to left again. And the alpha basks in how gorgeous Elio looks. His golden threads completely infused in his already magnificent hazel iris, the way his two black holes staring right at Oliver with such anticipation and adulation, his eyes blinking slow, is out of this world. The blue eyes tilts his head as he parts his mouth open and engulfs the porcelain skin into his mouth. A sensual low moan escapes from Elio and Oliver breathes out his shudder through his nose. The alpha isn’t going to deny it anymore; Oliver wants to see it in his own eyes Elio wants the same thing. So the alpha lets him fall into his trans.

I want him unhinged; unhindered—all his inhibition, rationality, socially taught etiquette and manners stripped off. Just him.

I want him needy, desperate, being totally lost in his instinct. I want him all to myself; driven solely by his desire and that desire being singularly directed at me and me alone. Because there is no one in this world who can sate him like I do.

I want the urgency; as if today is _the_ last day on earth—no tomorrow; this is the only chance we’d ever have and we will never again get another.

Omega in trans. As far as the scholastic brain of Oliver have learned—via texts, records, memoirs that recounts of those who have been with omega—it is something that can only be experienced fully in first hand. Oh, boy, they are true.

Elio’s overall demeanor changes; something very close to demure. His eyes blink slower than usual; his movement relaxed. Everything unscripted. The way he looks at his alpha too changes: seductive and innocent at the same time—in complete trust, with his thinking brain long been checked out, _his_ Elio looks up at Oliver with indescribable lust and longing mixed in his eyes. He is awake but his omega looks as though he is a completely different person. His mother tongue Italian coaxing his alpha, so sensually, never to leave him. Telling him how much he loves being touched and handled by the alpha; that Elio is his and his only. Then, Oliver hears him purr. It’s something omegas can’t fake. But Oliver’s research didn’t say anything about an omega using it as a lure. Though it came at him as a surprise, the blue eyes loves every moment of it. The alpha is over the moon, relishing the rut hormone coursing through his body. Elio moves as if he is trying to mold his body into Oliver’s while the alpha’s gut feeling like he is churning hot lava and glacial ice in one. If he isn’t careful, it feels as though he could consume him. The entirety and every bit of Elio that has been, are, and will be. _Is this what a true rut really is?_ The blue eyes wonders.

Elio rolls over and not taking his eyes off Oliver. With his erection hanging low, the omega shows off his small round butt. His slick trickles along the inside of his thighs and the scent of it overpowers the alpha. The hazel eyes arches his back slow, hugging in his shoulder, his eyes saying, ‘I know you like what you’re seeing.’

Oliver reaches his hand to grab hold of Elio’s cute little butt cheek but he pulls away a little. Only just a smidge. Ahh~, teasing, are we? Oliver eyes at the omega. To that, Elio’s eyes smize as he positions himself on all four before tossing his unruly curls and gazes back at Oliver. Sweet, demure thing.

That is it for the alpha. He runs his hand over Elio’s undercarriage wetting the inside of his fingers with his omega's slick and rushes to pump his erection coating it over his toasty skin. The hazel eyes lets out an impatient whine. So Oliver thrusts into his body, his grip on either side of Elio’s waist. The dark curls arches up his back, magnificently, his knees digging into mattress. A layer of sweat glistening over his milky white slender form, Elio’s hands clutch the sheets like a vice grip. Despite the blond’s relentless one hard plunge after another, the omega’s body is seeking more contact. His shoulder blades coming to life like a piece of magnificent art sculpture as his palms are holding more weight, Elio pushes his body back towards Oliver. And his knees spread further as he perk his taut round bottom up against the alpha’s pelvis. Without taking any pause, Oliver moves his grip over Elio’s shoulders. The dark curls’ mouth falls open with a wide smile; him so high, eyes rolling back. And the only recognizable sound two hear is the quick staccato of low grunts as the air is being pushed out of Elio’s lungs, at the same beat as the blue eyes fucks into him. uhngh, uhngh, uhngh–. Soon, a long string of saliva hangs from the omega’s bottom lip. And Elio’s cum starts dripping onto the sweat-dripped-n-crumpled sheets. The alpha continues his passionate thrusts. His eyes shining in purple.

Strangely, in-trans Elio doesn’t allow rutting Oliver knotting him. Nuh-uh, not this soon, the hazel eyes pulls away changing position as if to tell the blond how he likes to be fucked. And wordless directions continue all through the evening. Elio doesn’t flinch away from Oliver’s fingertips drawing long blunt claw lines over his body. The blond finds his new delight in suckling on Elio’s scent glands: not just behind his ears but inside of his thighs.

Elio palms Oliver’s chest to plop him on his back, crawling down to lap his cock up with his mouth. The alpha threads his fingers into the omega’s unruly curls and kneads the sweat damp scalp like the beat of calm ocean wave.

By the time, two are dripping with sweat beads and covered in each other’s bodily fluid, the blue black of the night changes into shades of light huge of yellow and orange of morning dawn.

And the very first thing Oliver’s nose catches as he is coming down from his rut hormone is, Coffee liquor.

Oliver’s eyes fly open: _Fuck_ –.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Thank You for reading, your time and interest.


	17. The Center of Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**   
>  [ CAUTION ] mentions of non-con sex   
>  ; once you finish reading, you’ll find that technically the implied sex between them here is _not_ non-con. But the element of inferred consent innately carries the danger. Of course, it is only possible because A/B/O is a fetish/kink genre, though two are already officially mated in this AU. Yet, in rl, even between a married couple, no one should engage in non-con. ‘No’ means ‘no’ and one can always change one’s mind even if one said ‘yes’ beforehand. A long winded-note short, please kindly remember clear boundaries are important for a healthy relationship. *hand in my chest, waist bow*

**Chapter Sixteen. The Center of Gravity**

As a grown alpha, Oliver intensely recognizes the nature of his own obsession: he mated with Elio, and he happily reveled in the fact that he was Elio’s first. Oliver claimed him, took him for his own and Elio has been his. This healthy, young, capable omega has been Oliver's and him alone. But never this.

Is it my greed? Oliver wonders running his palm over his mouth, watching Elio sleep. The blond sighs heavily through his nose. He chuckles though. Coffee liquor. How is it that Elio’s scent notes are all related to a café? No wonder I’m craving Black Devil.

The blue eyes pushes himself up as quietly as he can and gets into his trusted running gear. And he proceeds to debate whether he’d pick up a pack on the way back. He takes the fire escape stairs and sneaks out of the building through back alley maintenance entrance.

He decides to run all the way to faculty parking lot and fetch his vehicle. On the way home, he swings by Elio’s favorite local bakery and purchases a full box of pastries with three different sandwiches.

As soon as he opens the front door, he hears Elio’s whimper. And the first thing that comes to his mind is a scene from a horror movie. Or, or his omega somehow injured himself while the blue eyes was out for a run. The alpha shucks off his shoes quickly and runs upstairs. He hurtles into the master bedroom, with dire urgency and finds Elio gone. He isn’t on the bed where Oliver left him. The panic engulfs him. Did he slip and fall in the shower and couldn’t get up the whole time? Oliver thinks, as he rushes into the bathroom. No sign of Elio. Oliver’s mind whirls with crazy scenarios and he feels dizzy. Okay, okay, the blond sets his jaws, his eyes darting from one corner to the other. He tries to wet his lips but he is beyond parched. Oliver breathes out long and slow, grounding himself. Where would I go if I woke up by myself in bed and find Elio gone? My head is foggy with hormones and I can’t think straight. What would I––?

Oliver turns on his heels quietly and takes soundless steps towards to the walk-in closet. He carefully opens the double door, trying not to make the hinges squeak. And the alpha is greeted with a sweet scent of his omega. But he cannot actually make out exactly where Elio hid himself. Oliver reaches for the overhead light and the closet brightens except for the racks. The blond subdues his huff. Because the blue eyes sees the bare feet; their laundry hampers tossed upside down, the contents strewn and piled in a mess. It appears that Elio sorted out only Oliver’s clothes. The alpha finally exhales in relief. And he kneels down gently, one at a time, and settles next to the pile. He reaches his right arm forward and parts his color-sorted pant suits neatly hanging in the lower level. Under one of his shirts(he wore this on Monday), Oliver sees the familiar chocolate unruly curls peeking out from under. Elio is lying on his side, curled up, and covered himself with every garment Oliver wore since the beginning of this week.

Oliver cannot help himself but to bask in this slice of splendor. He gently runs his palm over the omega’s hair and Elio struggles to peel open his eyes, moan-whimpering low. So beautiful. With half lidded eyes, Elio reaches out his sleepy hands to Oliver. The blond inches closer to him. And the hazel eyes curls his body over the blond’s lap.

 _Boy Scout, never miss a day_ , Elio complains in his head, _where were you? it felt like million years._ And Oliver hears Elio grumble. So the blue eyes gathers him up into his arms. To his utter amazement, Elio does more than just enveloping himself closer to Oliver. The dark curls’ long pianist fingers, soft and elegant, wrap around Oliver’s nape. And a gentle purr rumbles from the omega’s chest as he nuzzles his face along Oliver’s neck, dragging his nose along the jaw line. The level of affection in this intensity, slow never rushed yet extremely potent closeness, sends lightening shocks all over Oliver’s body. Yet, the somber zing grips onto the blue eyes’ heart. Oliver knows it’s not of his.

“Elio…,” Oliver attempts to say something but Elio shakes his head, his chest still purring the gorgeous resonance. And immediately, the alpha understands why.

The flashbacks of that summer is running in Elio’s head. It was stupid really, how two ended up parting with unsavory terms. Two already know that it was neither’s fault. Though it may have been a simple misunderstanding, the argument that followed gashed both of them deep enough to call it quits, right in the height of their so-called honeymoon period. And for the first time, Oliver gets to see how it was for Elio after the hazel eyes stormed out of his room. The recollection of the last week of two summers ago plays in Oliver’s head. Elio curled on the bed no longer able to cry, resurgence of terrible nightmares, him debating on whether to offer an apology or somehow break the silence between them, pacing back and forth, picking up and plopping loose his phone on the matress or the floor, him deciding to go against it, against his heart. Oliver hears his voice coming from the other side of the door, in the reverie, asking Elio, ‘baby, please talk to me.’

On the day of his departure, it was the fifth day Elio had refused to eat. Elio barely got himself out of the bed, not realizing it was the very last day for Oliver, and cracked open his bedroom door to find what Oliver had left him. The jar of origami stars. Elio blinked so fast, his hand trembled; unable to touch its surface. Then, all of a sudden, the dark curls broke out into a run, rushed down the stair and across the yard, and grabbed the electric bike and began paddling as fast as he can with the full throttle of the handle. Out of breath, sweating all over, Elio ran into the platform of the train station, his bicycle chaotically hitting the pavement, only to catch the tail end of the train that carried Oliver away from him.

Soft trickle of hot tears blot on Oliver’s skin and Elio clings to the alpha as if he is the last solid thing left in this world. It tear-opens the blond’s heart mercilessly into million shreds. How is he not even making a blip with all this? Oliver's soul pains for him, instead. It is the omega who finds the blond’s mouth with his own hungry kisses, his lips trembling. The blue eyes tastes the salt of Elio’s tears. The beautiful devastation of his future’s past. It is hauntingly flawlessly perfect. Two shares unhurried kiss, tilting their heads to the opposite direction, and lulling their tongue on each other’s. The stuttering breath escapes from Elio as his tears streak down soundlessly along on his cheeks. The entire fabric of Oliver’s being cries with him.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver–,” the alpha barely manages to repeat his name.

Elio shakes his head, without letting Oliver’s lips go. What followed is something the blond can never disobey.

"Please, Elio, let me do this, please,” Elio breathes out, fine trembling rippling in his tear-sodden voice, “I need it. I need you.”

Omega is known to have several distinct features that other secondary genders do not have. Their involuntary purr and the Voice. By an evolutionary point of view, scholars posit that the Voice is given to Omegas to control their alpha when they are in basal rut cycle. Like that of mating call of other species such as birds and reptiles, once mated, the Voice becomes something the alpha in a given pair cannot defy or challenge. Though the exact mechanism of how it has such a strong hold, as its effect is so binding and becomes hard-wired, no mated alpha has been known to defy or challenge the Voice of their mated omega.

Oliver’s eyelids flutter fast, rumble gurgling up from his core.

 _Tell me, Oliver, tell me exactly what you need,_ the alpha raptures in his head, pulling in Elio into his embrace closer.

 _You,_ Elio sucks in a desperate breath between their kisses, _Only you, Just. You._

 _You already have me. Tell me, what can I do?_ Oliver pleads.

Elio snakes his hands between them and pushes himself apart from Oliver. The blond’s eyes dart over the omega’s eyes. His pupils are the size of quarter, his golden threads completely inlined with his hazel iris, Elio is gorgeous. Oliver runs his thumb pad, his palm cupping Elio’s face, over the dark curls’ chiseled cheek bone. And Elio leans into his touch. The alpha’s throat waves hard.

“Make me forget everything.”

.

It is the easiest thing of his entire existence for Oliver to do; scooping Elio up into his arms just to whisk him away to their bedroom. The alpha doesn’t like how light his Elio feels in his embrace—cannot stop thinking about it in his head. The past few months since their reunion has been exceedingly taxing for both of them. _Should I have thought this through?_ Oliver wonders, gently cradling heat-hormone immersed head of his mate. As far as what Oliver has understood, male omegas have semi-annual heat cycles. Majority of times, having heat doesn’t necessarily mean that he (or they) will conceive. The cycle only increases the chance of fertilization for male omegas, unlike that of Alpha females, and especially female omegas. From what Oliver could gather, Elio hasn’t had his regular cycle since that incident two years ago. Which also means his omega hasn’t been on birth control. The prudent step is to run to a nearest pharmacy for a neutral shot. It’s early enough, Oliver reasons, Elio just started his heat last night. And we probably didn’t miss the window for its counter-effect for his heat. Maybe I should have fetched one on the way back from my run, Oliver ponders to himself. Because timing is _everything_. And what should have been their joyous reunion took a sharp turn on their third day back together with the most disturbing news. Because, no matter which direction the blue eyes contemplates—realistically, rationally and logically—two cannot afford to have a family right now. Not just about what has been happening to them by _Chambers_ and the world, but Elio also has one more year before he graduates. They didn’t even have a chance to talk about it, either. Yet, all Oliver wants to do is to disregard everything-n-all rebuttal and obey Elio’s wishes: _Make me forget everything._

Maybe that’s what Oliver wants; _Has been_ wanting all along. Simply forget about everything that has been going on in their lives and just be with one another. Being submerged in the act of their attempts to meld into one. Completely giving into the need and the want to be together in any way possible. Regardless of the fact that Elio using his _Voice_ on the blond was with his full consciousness or not. Oliver quickly huffs at his own thought, dismissing the very notion. Because the alpha is faced with the undeniable event unfolding in front of him. The surprise and sudden addition of coffee liquor note on Elio’s scent since early this morning means not only their cycles are in complete sync but also the beginning of his fertile heat cycle. I could just keep him in trans without obeying his _Voice_ , Oliver dares in his head, and let him sleep it off while I get the neutral shots.

The blue eyes lays Elio’s body on their bed. Even before Oliver lets go of him, Elio moans out a quiet and drawn out ‘no… please don’t go.’ He is dreaming his past. It quashes Oliver’s heart and it’s excruciating. The blond’s throat waves as he swallows his tears.

“I’m here, Oliver,” the alpha says the words like prayer, slowly carding his fingers through Elio’s unruly curls, “I’m never letting go.”

Elio curls his knees closer to his chest, his hand clinging on to Oliver’s shirt in a loose grip. And the blond’s hand gently cuddles over his grip, his chin trembling minutely, as he kneels on the floor next to him.

“I love you, Elio Perlman,” a hot tear draws a line from Oliver’s left eye, his voice shuddering hard, “I have loved you from the moment I saw you.”

With a slow blink, Elio meets Oliver’s eyes. And the most magnificent smile blooms on the omega’s face. The alpha’s eyes dart over Elio’s two black holes encased in amber circles. The dark curls’ softly unfurled hand rises and cups Oliver’s face just as deftly. Elio is running hot, forehead speckled with budding small sweat beads, while his body is trembling with heat.

“Took you long enough,” the hazel eyes says with a parched mouth, his gaze studying him with utmost adoration and affection. _Say it again, Elio_ , Elio says in his head, _tell me again. I want to hear you say it again._

Oliver crashes his lips over Elio and says, “I love you.” And he repeats those words over and over again as he kisses the dark curls over and over again.

I love you

I love you

I love you

.

\-------------------------------------------

[ Chapter Epilogue ]

Oliver's plan to spend holidays in his Victorian cottage that used to belong to his mother's sister in Lake District foils. For Elio in sudden heat unaffords them to do so. And two spend their next fourteen days in bed. Elio complains about a localized burning sensation on the lower quadrant of his abdomen. Oliver tends to the patch of that porcelain white skin there without saying much. But the alpha knows that the hazel eyes will be surprised once it heals up. Better late than never, right?

And eight weeks later, Oliver comes home to smell yet another change in Elio's scent. This time, fresh cucumber.

\-------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm… *nervously fidgeting* originally their first heat-rut cycle was agreed to be more animalistic, instinctive, and raunchy. And this transcriber-me was trying really hard to uphold that sentiment but... but… . I guess letting me revise more-than-necessary-times ended up becoming *gesturing all* this. me saweee~~ *crawling under the blanket*  
> .  
> As always, Thank You for reading, your time and interest.  
> I wish you with all my heart; of your continued good health, for your compassionate heart to glow, in your joyous soul to fill with freedom, wonderful days to come.


	18. And I’m afraid it’s you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post first heat-rut cycle Oliver and Elio. Elio discovers something he should have known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**   
>  A little smut and the beginning of something this transcriber-me don’t want to lend my mind on. *long sigh*

**Chapter Seventeen. And I’m afraid it’s you**

“So you knew all this time?”

.

**Oliver**

Christmas that wasn’t a Christmas and New Year’s day that wasn’t a new year’s day passed. And we spent almost two weeks completely entrenched in our very first heat-rut cycle, bouncing off on one another’s carnal needs. Thank goodness for delivery app or else we wouldn’t have made it through this Elio’s somewhat of an extended heat. Granted it wasn’t unusual for the first returning cycle to be off from Elio’s typical norm. Truth be told, neither of us was prepared for it. Oh, boy but we reveled on it. And as for me, I uh… I didn’t know I was going to be this happy about it.

I was in the process of putting the third load of laundry when I heard him actually called out my name. I dropped everything and rushed to him. Why I panic each time with this urgency when it comes to Elio, I still do not fully understand.

Elio is standing in the shower, his head half washed, looking down at his abs. I dump out my chest in relief with inaudible ‘whew–’ (probably with a matching face expression), my shoulders letting go of their tension. My eyes focus on his hand. And I see _my_ Elio running his fingertips over the patch of skin—gently and thoughtfully. Mhm~, I muse in my head, just standing there. It is quite a refreshingly clearheaded notion a person could have; knowing that there is absolutely no need for words. The vehicle for communication that often comes with its innate and inevitiable possibility of being misunderstood and misconstrued, even between two people who love each other so very much. Because, by now, Elio knows exactly what I am feeling (and thinking) right at this moment as we both are consciously aware of the strength of our soul connection. I subdue a grin on my face without saying anything. Right at that moment, I hear Elio splirting ‘pft’ through the stream of water, running down over his face as he sniggers.

“(Oh, for fuck sake),” Elio begins confirming what I was just thinking about, “yes, of course I do,” and the beautiful head of his snaps up a bit with an upward side glance.

My Elio is smiling ear to ear, his cheeks colored in heightened pink. Is it the temperature of shower or something else?

 _Well~, what do you think?_ Elio huffs, playfully flinging a rhetorical question.

I toss him an offbeat smile, pivoting on my heels to head on back to what I was doing a minute ago, “finish up while I get the laundry going.”

“Uh, wait,” Elio quips back, “so you knew all this time?”

I swivel back and straighten myself in front him, pushing my hands into my sweatpants. Elio is simply holding my gaze, demanding to hear me say it plainly, though he already knew the answer. I lull my tongue over the inside of my cheek without parting my lips. And I take in his gorgeous naked body. Elio snorts, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and shifts his stance—simply and _purposefully_ letting my gaze meander all over his body. And our cogs click with the same beat and tempo over the very fact that he is enjoying this: the undivided attention and us in seamless sync.

Knowing ‘ _all this time_ ’ isn’t quite an elegant way to put it. Yes, by definition, I have known Elio is my soulmate and the full emergence of soulmark on the evening of that terrible incident was a proof of that. Yet I wasn’t sure whether I believed in it with conviction. Though Lewis hinted that Elio’s lack-there-of recognition and me being the heightened one out of us two had a lot to do with what the sort of beings(?) like Lewis call as _Plan_. But I still cannot shake off the thought, and the anguish that came with it, that there was something disquieting about our soul connection. Was it the age difference? Not to mention, there is such thing as false soulmate. Just like pseudocyesis (false pregnancy), all of it could have been my imagination. Because, that summer, we didn’t have this level of mind-to-mind coupling. I couldn’t read or see or feel him, then. It was faint and sparse even before that. Despite the close proximity, Elio didn’t show any proof during that summer unlike my body did; long before my heart reaffirmed that I was his and he was mine.

I run my tongue over the outer contour of upper teeth, under my closed lips. And I see Elio’s eyebrows rise further up towards his hairline. I click my tongue quietly under a breath, letting go of the internal debate whether I should tell him the long-winded version (such as this) or not. And,

“Let’s say I was pretty sure.”

In other words, for his information, I knew from the day one Elio is my soulmate. No ifs, ands, and buts. That none of whatever happened between us was a mistake nor ill-conceived subterfuge nor pretense. _Retrospectively_ , that is.

“Where?” Elio’s monosyllabic word comes out low and steady in neutral tone, deliberately raking his fingers over his still half-soapy hair.

I huff out softly through my nose, with a slight tilt of my head. “Come on,” I entice him pleasantly, “finish up and I’ll be back before you say _Leopardi_ and towel you down.”

I knew exactly which of our shared memory the phrase ‘towel you down’ is going to bring up in Elio’s head. Lo and behold, his exquisite cock starts to stiffen up in front of my eyes. He’s not going to budge, is he?

_You know it._

“Tch, aw, alright,” I feign a begrudging acquiescence and start unthreading my arm from my jumper.

Elio’s chest bellows rhythmically, the rest of him without any movement, his gaze locked on me. When I lift my bent arm up to show him exactly where I have my soulmark, for the past two years, Elio’s lower jaw falls slow, his hazel eyes widen.

> **מִבטָח**
> 
> Hebrew;  
>  _noun_. haven, shelter, faith, trust, reliance, confidence, sanctuary, fidelity.

Is it usual for a soulmate pair to have this type of serendipitous soulmark? I highly doubt it.

 _I can’t wait to see my mom’s face when I tell her about this_ , Elio muses in his head. 'Jews of discretion' was her words. And I know we are thinking about that exact conversation we’ve had. Because, with the exception of Elio’s family, he once told me, I probably was the only other Jew who had ever set foot in B. But unlike the Perlmans, this bold _Americano_ let others see it from the very start: in plain site, out in the open, proclaiming Judaism on my neck.

I thread my arm back into my sweatshirt and tip my chin up a little with a lopsided grin, encouraging him to get on with his first-morning-out-of-heat-haze shower. As I pivot on the ball of my feet, Elio goes,

_Why didn’t you give me a sign?_

I huff out loud with a smile, walking away from the master bath.

 _Oh, come on~,_ Elio’s impatience oozes out of the dazzling brain of his _._

I suck in a long content inhale through my nose as I walk down to the laundry room. And I know exactly what he is doing.

 _Ah-ah~,_ I remark in my head, arriving at the laundry room. _Hands-off. It’s my turn,_ I state it firmly, bending down a little to load the rest of the sheets into the washer.

“And for your information,” I say it out loud, turning the knob of the machine, “I did. Many times.”

I feel him making his trademark snicker-face, _pfft, when?_

 _You know, as brilliant as you are, you can be quite daft_ , I quip back and turn around, closing the door behind me as the drum starts to slush heavy, _so wrapped up in your own thought._

 _No, I wasn’t,_ Elio rebukes, lifting his head, and pauses for a beat from rinsing the suds off his hair and body.

 _Oh, you sure?_ I tease him on, walking back to the master bedroom, _for what it’s worth, at least I tried._

 _When?_ Elio asks turning under the stream.

 _After tennis once. I touched you. Just as a way of showing I liked you_ , I tell him, _the way you reacted made me feel I’d almost molested you,_ while opening the narrow single door towel closet in the masterbath, _so I decided to keep my distance._

And I hear the sound of shower stream stop. I walk in after slinging one towel over my shoulder, unfolding the other up between my two hands. Elio runs his palms over his wet hair to squeeze out the excess water before he’d do the same over his face. A small drop clings to the tip of his nose. Elio gives me a closed lipped full grin as he catches where my gaze has landed.

 _Still like what you’re seeing, I see,_ Elio retorts mischievously.

“Verry much,” I respond slow, dragging my teeth over the lower lip a bit longer.

“Come on, be honest with me,” Elio pouts, both his shoulders shrug-up-then-drop in a quick motion and grumbles, “how was I supposed to know _that_ was your way of letting me know that we have a soulmate connection?” And his full erection bobs in mid-air at his gesture. I let the moment soak. Elio scrunches his face, crinkling the bridge of his nose. He knows I _like_ seeing him like this too: all pouty-bratty. With my arms open, a fresh towel fanned out in between, I don’t move a muscle—waiting for him to walk out of the shower booth. He kneads the bottom of his bare feet on the tile floor. So adorable.

I take a large breath through my lightly parted mouth, clearly smiling, and gesture for him to ‘get over here’ with my head. Elio wrinkles his mouth to the side before he gives in, and walks into my arms. And out of nowhere, a verse comes to my mind;

_My heart has made its mind up_   
_And I’m afraid it’s you._

I feel him smile against my skin as I leisurely begin drying him. Elio nuzzles forward, as if to try and burrow into me, tilting his head just so. Then, he draws the flat of his tongue along the bottom ridge of my jaw ever-so-unhurriedly: an intimate omegan gesture of gratitude I’ve only read about—something very reserved between a bonded pair and something Elio didn’t need to learn yet knows instinctually. My body lets out a shivering sigh.

.

**Following Week | London, UK**

The first order of business this New Year is to jump through the (long awaited) hoops the government propositioned for the sake of fairness and benefit-of-all. Five months is a record time in bureaucratic sense—meaning a lot shorter than majority of times and for most of people—but Oliver is still nervous and on edge. As a person who never gets a stage fright, this is a whole new experience for the blond. Thankfully, things go without a hitch. Whew–.

As a private foundation, the rules and regulation applied to LIFT are different from other non-profit organizations. Because the profit of the Chambers Group is the principal source of its funds, Oliver needs to find a way to unbind LIFT from it, if he were ever to keep the foundation alive. With the recent change via merger, shareholders can demand the fiduciary duty to the CEO. Of course, the biochemical-engineering company Ωtnæzöm has never been in the business of make-nice with the public, even through a private foundation such as LIFT. They have Fairchild’s for that; the arrangement made in some cigar and cognac lounge almost a century ago. In comparison, therefore, Oliver’s mother’s legacy doesn’t benefit Ωtnæzöm side of shareholders. A chump change at best with non-scalable value. To make matters worse, the stark fact is that Oliver holding 20 percent of the share as a third in line in Chambers Group doesn’t help much; as the other two hold, together combined, the 49 percent. It is never a fare fight and it won’t ever be. Whether the recent confluence of the Chambers and Ωtnæzöm was a smart move or not, the current quarterly return appears to be lucrative than any other merger occurred in this decade. So LIFT is doomed to be discarded. And the blue eyes cannot let that happen. While the civil class action from the beneficiary of LIFT was initiated, Oliver needed to find a way to sway the majority. Maybe, this way, the blond hopes, he could form an amicable alliance within the expanded company.

In a floor to ceiling whole pane glassed conference room, on the forty-ninth floor of a corporate law firm, Oliver is making his case for himself: his second order of business this New Year, for his mother’s sake—him wearing 20,000 dollar tailored suit. To be honest, the alpha was surprised that he still fit into this almost ten-year-old suit. Why he kept it, he doesn’t remember. And for some reason, Oliver decided to put it on _after_ sending Elio off to school that day. Your protectiveness is kicking in, Elio protested with a little puff on both his cheeks. But the dark curls didn’t roll his eyes at the blond. Though Oliver is far from those traditionalists, Elio could not help but to feel a surreptitious delight in his alpha’s sudden shift—an outward manifestation of their bond pouring out of Oliver without him ever having to ask or coax it out of his alpha. Yes, it is widely common and very natural phenomenon for the alpha in a mated pair to become territorial over their omega counterpart. Therefore, seeing it on Oliver indeed gave him a sense of victory. _Finally~ I’m not the only one._ On top of that, Elio understood where the sudden intensification of this trait of Oliver was coming from, and _why_. Before he exited the car, Elio let the alpha nuzzle his nose on his scenting gland and claim him with his own scent. It took longer than the omega expected. Yet, Elio thoroughly enjoyed and reveled in it, hearing Oliver rumble his chest, their shared breaths fogging up the inside of the alpha's car thick.

“I wish you don’t have to go,” Oliver whispered low rapturously, licking the shell of Elio’s ear.

Elio moaned, running his palm over Oliver’s bulge between his thighs slowly, and confessed, “me, too.”

Two wanted the moment to last but there were things to do, people to meet, shit to get done. With a juicy final kiss, Elio was able to get out of the car.

.

Oliver stood in front of the mirror, getting the cufflinks in. He ran the back of his hand over where Elio deliberately left his scent under his jawline. The alpha’s eyes dart to the bedside table where he kept a pack of Black Devil. But he sighed to himself. He swung his suit jacket over and proceeded to buttoning up top to bottom, one at a time. It was very unlike of Oliver to be this pensive and meticulous. To him, it was like putting on a face. Everyone does it every day, sure. All of us inadvertently choose elements of ourselves appropriate for a given situation, just like selecting an item from a menu. Your demeanor changes, the way you carry yourself changes, so as the speech. Self-policing for the sake of getting what we want as no one in this world is tucked in nicely without blame, errors or faults. Oliver clenched his teeth, sighing out deep through his nose. And he shook his head, witnessing himself of putting on eight thousand dollar watch on his wrist. This _is_ literally me putting on a person suit, Oliver tsks under his breath.

The way to the law office felt like he was trundling into a murky pit. Having been an outsider, the blond has been fully aware of its danger of getting himself back in. Because he too became ‘the other’ once he decided to exist outside the boundaries of _his kind_.

.

“I must say that was a great presentation,” the salt-and-pepper haired guy who is sitting at the other end of the conference table begins after Oliver finishes, “I can see why you are so famed amongst students and likes of them.”

It doesn’t take much for Oliver to identify a passive aggressive underhanded attack. Just because he chooses not to doesn’t mean he cannot recognize it.

“You see, Oliver, I can call you ‘Oliver,’ right?” the man continues as if he is reciting some lyrical poem. Eerily drawn out with an air of superiority.

Oliver keeps his expression mild, not reacting.

“At any given time,” the pompous man rolls his wrist, his fat fingers folding inwards towards his palm effortlessly, “I have a truck-full of those–, what you might call it?” he muses with a sardonic grin on his mug, “ahhh, yes, ‘minions’ of economists, analysts, and litigators who happen to know about how corporate culture operates. And they all are ‘dying’ to stake their life for the ambition and dreams.”

He glances over to Oliver, studying him, before he continues, “it is quite regretful for me to carve out my busy schedule to hear your naïve and idealistic view of how the company such as Chambers-Ωtnæzöm should or shouldn’t operate. Mind you,” he purses his lips, indicating his dismay, “this meeting was a very. rare. occasion that will never repeat. And yet, you thought that your little shpill will convince me of how I should run my business,” he tut-tuts with an overtly deliberate lament, turning his haughty figure of pot-bellied self towards Oliver’s direction, “ _Real world_ is very different from your safe and cozy classroom,” he glares with venomous derision flashing in his eyes, “professor.”

It’s true that if it wasn’t for Kieran (Elena’s UK associate), this meeting would not have been possible. It is also true that Oliver was granted this man’s time as a courtesy since the blond is _the only son_ of the lineage of Chambers original founder. Did Oliver expect that this could somehow work and not come across as a challenge? Because despite what was ostensibly said, Kieran, Elena, and this fucking middle age meat sack (of course, Oliver) knew today’s get-together was for the show. So, when the time comes for the civility to slough off from their (the other side's) smug faces, they can claim they have fully and openly cooperated and sought every possible alternatives.

Oliver breathes in through his nose with a mild smile, “I thank you for your time. And good day,” and he exits the room.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –The chapter title and the verse of what Oliver thought are from _Valentine_ by Wendy Cope. Here is the full version;  
> My heart has made its mind up  
> And I’m afraid it’s you.   
> Whatever you’ve got lined up  
> My heart has made its mind up  
> And if you can’t be signed up  
> This year, next year will do.   
> My heart has made its mind up  
> And I’m afraid it’s you.   
> Click [this](https://youtu.be/Vhg4efvRUqc) for a spoken/recited version.  
> .  
> My deepest gratitude for those who caught the subtle hints I sprinkled here and there of powerbottom!_Elio. It’s simply irresistible. *giggle*  
> .  
> As always, \Thank You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> I know I’ve said it many times but… do kindly remember to stay safe and healthy: mind, body, and soul.


	19. Romancing the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember Elio asking a favor from Diego without discussing it with Oliver? Here is what he has been up to. And a little bit of Diego and Elena’s history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T** for imagery and language   
> 

**Chapter Eighteen. Romancing the Past**

Throwing oneself into the pack of wolves is a graceful way to put it. Diego double-confirms whether he truly wishes to go through with this, inside the heavily tinted sedan. Why Diego felt the need to pull this much resources of _his_ for today’s occasion, Elio doesn’t really understand. Because the hazel eyes could have easily walked to this place or grabbed a cab. Diego lets out a series of ‘you’re so adorable’ cynical puffs through his nose, nursing on one of his go-to sugary cold drinks. Elio does sense the palpable tension between his male best friend and Elena, who is sitting so classy-ly across from them. She is what? Size 12, in her mid to late thirties? And Elio catches his Spaniard friend stealing a glance here and there.

.

Elena and Elio walk into an opulent building with high security: tighter than that of a maximum security prison. They are told to wait by the leather sofa and Elena tips her head only just, showing her acknowledgement.

“Remember, the social rules for the people you are about to meet are very different from what you see in everyday life,” Elena says in a low voice, once they sat down at the far right corner spot. And she recaps what they have already went over, especially the part that _he_ values relationships more than money. The pronoun drops like a giant rock at the pit of Elio’s stomach.

A woman who appears to be beta in a tight sleeveless dress without any name tag struts around the pillar like she is walking on a runway. She completely ignores Elio and speaks to Elena directly, showing off her porcelain white veneered upper teeth like she had won the crown for a beauty pageant. Two follow behind her, Elena’s stiletto making a delightful yet commanding clack-clack on the high-sheen marble floor.

A few minutes later, three get off from the elevator to a large room that appears to be ripped out of modern architecture magazine. In the middle, an abstractly shaped sculpture stands over a glossy podium. The walls are the color of pure white (too white it hurts Elio’s eyes) while the furniture within are dense black. The beta female doesn’t say anything but leaves Elena and Elio behind. The omega catches Elena taking in a measured breath.

“Right on time,” a voice comes from the northwest of the rectangular room, “have a seat. And I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The voice belongs to a man in a black three-piece suit who is standing in front of a large round conference table. Everything is in black leather. And it smells like they use special formula for maintaining its shine.

“You’ll be with me?” Elena begins with a neutral tone.

“Yes,” the man replies without looking up from whatever he is doing.

Elio stands a half of a step behind Elena and his observation finds two brushed chrome elevator doors behind the man.

“I see,” Elena tips her head, not a single strand of her brushed-over-to-her-left-shoulder out of place and starts to walk towards the guy in a slower than her usual pace.

Clack

Clack

Clack

“I’d ask your name but the truth is,” Elena reaches to the side of the table, “I don’t really give a damn.”

The man in the black suit doesn’t react.

“We are here to meet Mr. Chambers,” Elena says firmly.

“Mister Chambers is upstairs,” the man projects his voice, sighing in a way ‘you are not my first rodeo and I’ve dealt with the kinds of you more than you can count’ before he carries on and says, “to get upstairs, you have to get through those doors,” still not giving the courtesy of looking up from his high tech devices on the table.

Elena turns her head around towards Elio slow and the hazel eyes walks closer to her. The guy muses with a mild ‘hmm.’

“And to get through those doors you have to get through me,” the guy states and _finally_ , he lifts his head with almost a blank look and takes in an inhale as if this encounter is very inopportune for him, “and you are not going to get through me.”

A faint yet dangerous smile appears on Elena’s face than disappears quickly, “well,” and she reaches into her designer bag and takes out a folder, “perhaps this will surprise you,” and gently places the document on the table in front of him.

The man sniffs quietly, straightening himself up, and scans the document quickly. He is about Elena’s height.

“This is a balance sheet from one of our subsidiaries,” the guy says dismissively as if he just tasted something foul, “this is _nothing_ ,” and pushes the document back to Elena’s direction with the tips of two fingers.

It’s Elena’s turn to let out a hum of being amused by his tactic. Without much movement, she pulls out a handful of same colored folder with labels on their tabs. And she locks her gaze on the man’s face before she plops one folder on top of another in an interval: ever so slowly. The three-piece-suit guy leans forward to glance down at the pile.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg,” Elena states plainly.

The guy gathers his composure sucking a large breath audibly through his nose, “this is out of date, miss–.”

Elena waves her hand at her thigh level, dismissing his belated attempt to restart the conversation. Three piece suit clicks his tongue and his face expression changes, as his tone.

“You think we didn’t know about this?” remarks the man, his eyes studying Elena and Elio to gauge where they stand, “I’m sure a woman of your caliber already know we’ve already divested.”

Elena simply blinks before she starts to plop three more separate folders on top of the pile without any word.

“So what? Now Chambers and Ωtnæzöm combined doesn’t have holdings in those areas,” the man retorts, showing the signs of his façade cracking.

Elena takes in an audible breath through her gently parted lips, “we both know _merger_ doesn’t automatically grandfather in,” her giant brown eyes drop down to the pile, “ _these_ offenses.”

The man clears his throat. And one of his high-tech device chimes distinctly. The three-piece-suit brushes down his tie with his palm, rather nervously, before pressing on the surface of the screen.

“Y–yes?”

/ “Send him up, Chris,” / the speaker rings with a similar voice Elio is very familiar with.

And the guy turns his head around towards his four o’clock and looks up at the corner: the camera. _He has been watching_.

“Him? sir?” the man asks in surprise.

/ “Be useful and have Maxine bring out the refreshments for Miss Elena.” /

The guy’s face looks like his cat just died. He swallows hard trying to center himself from the injury to his ego before he presses the face of his device. And the left elevator glides open.

Elio looks at Elena wide-eyed, a bit stunned. She only nods lightly. And the man turns his back towards the window side of the room and stretches his open palm for Elio, gesturing ‘please, this way.’

.

The indicator inside the elevator blinks a blue light ‘PH’ and the thick door glides open without any noise. Elio fills his lungs determinately before he steps out into the floor.

A very familiar music is playing in the background. The dark curls walks on in further, blinking fast. Because it’s him playing Mozart. The very recording that got him into _Conservatoire de Paris._

“Quite a talent, Mister Perlman,” the voice he heard below echoes from his left. It is very similar to Oliver’s but the texture is different: a bit gravelly and somewhat grainy.

“You are probably wondering _how_ I was able to get this,” the voice states, “please, come,” and the figure turns around.

Mister Chambers, Oliver’s father, is a dense man. And Elio can see where Oliver got his features from, although his alpha is at least six inches taller than him. The omega catches Mr. Chambers' nostril flaring.

“Curious,” the old man goes, “I didn’t believe it when I read it.”

The senior is talking about Elio lacking what should have been his gender trait. So he pulled my medical record as well, Elio gathers in his head, placing his hands together in front himself.

“So, what brings you to this part of the world?” the old alpha inquires.

Elio swallows hard, pressing his lips together and repeats ‘hold your tongue until he tells you to seat.’

“Ahh–,” Mr. Chambers begins, satisfied with Elio’s silence and turns around to take a good look at Elio, “is it the potential my dear Oliver sees in you?”

Elio immediately drops his gaze down to the floor, lacing his thumbs together rather anxiously. The old alpha makes an evident noise of amusement before he chucks another,

“Or is this my only son’s way of rebelling against me?”

Elio keeps his stance still.

“Hmm,” the old man tips his crystal tumbler, taking a sip of clear liquid, “someone taught you well,” and his upper lip curls up as the alcohol cascades down his throat, “kindly kneel,” his head tilts lightly, towards the round cushion which appears to be prepared just for Elio, “I’m certain you will find it most comfortable. Imported mulberry silk, highest thread count in the market. With! alpaca fleece as a filling. Only top of the line.”

“Thank you,” Elio stills himself, mustering up a pleasantry, and says “I am very grateful,” before taking a couple of step towards the omega floor pillow.

“Now, young Elio,” Mr. Chamber begins in a jollier tone, as Elio’s demeanor piqued his interest, “what can I do for you?”

.

**Back in the conference room | London, UK**

Elena is sitting with her ankles crossed, Diego sitting opposite from her in that white rectangular room. Once Elena informed Diego that Elio’ll be awhile, the Spaniard insisted to come up. Elena didn’t object strongly, though she did make sure to say that his time may be useful somewhere else. The refreshment brought out by Maxine are really good. But Diego doesn’t touch much other than the two sips and a munch: he is nervous.

“Ehrr––, how long has it been?” Diego begins, thinking it is a good a question as any.

Elena huffs quietly through her nose with a soft smile, “a while,” remembering the greeting she did a couple of days before Christmas.

“What? like seven years?”

Elena knows exactly what Diego is doing yet she decides to acquiesce and play along, “eight.”

“Rrright,” Diego responds with ‘how stupid of me’ expression on his face, because he knew it's been exactly eight years seven months and thirteen days. But he wanted to see whether she knew. Hiding his small smile, Diego continues, the edge of him feeling incredibly nervous shaven a timble, “it’s uh… it’s very nice to see you,” and he cannot help himself from fidgeting, “again.”

Elena simply lifts her chin minutely as she breathes in through her nose.

“You know… it’s disgusting how much I still love you.”

“Diego–.”

Diego sets his jaws, swallowing hard.

“I know this is not a right time or a place for it but I want you to know and, and hear it straight from me that I did what you asked. I stayed away. I got cleaned up. I got my life straight,” Diego rapid-fires the words and he stops abruptly, raking his lower teeth at the corner of his upper lip before he says, “and…,” yet he hesitates. The Spaniard’s upper body hunches as he sighs out low, pensive for a second or two more, then in barely audible voice, he says “and I didn’t look for you as you wished.”

His voice sounds like the history of them are still living inside him, as if the memory and its remembrance have been keeping him going. Elena fills her lungs slowly as she closes her eyes, before she utters ‘I know’ in almost a whisper. Frustration bubbles over Diego’s body and he fists his both hands up subduing his groan. He presses the bottom of his shoes and kicks his body up off the black leather sofa, pacing away behind the sitting area. Elena’s gaze follows the back of Diego’s broad back. Something flickers in her eyes. But her composure doesn’t falter. The Spaniard alpha turns on the ball of his feet and starts pacing slowly in a small circle behind the lounger.

“I’m glad you kept your word,” Elena adds softly. And after a little pause, she offers, “I really am.”

With his back towards Elena, Diego grits his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, and breathes out the exasperation through his nose as if it’s burning him inside out. He runs his palm over his face which ends around his lower jaw, with his thumb rubbing a pressured line along his mandible.

“I’m not 17 anymore,” Diego states.

Elena lets out a sorrowful sigh through her parted lips. She wants to say something but she holds herself back. Diego paces some more, raking his fingers through his hair, before he comes to a stop, facing the wall. His shoulder sags.

“You know what hurt me the most?”

Elena’s eyebrows turn into a frown. How could she forget?

“The last words,” Diego sucks in a sharp breath through his parted mouth, his nostrils flare as he tries his very best to hold his emotion back, “the last thing you said to me… that although you have feelings for me and you do care about me but you are not going to do anything about it–,” and he pauses, feeling the tightness on his chest as if the impact of those words still feel like it is being said in real time, even after eight years have passed.

Elena’s gaze falls and, the rims of her eyes tinting with red, “and gonna focus on moving on,” she finishes her words for him.

Diego swallows hard, grinding his teeth so he won’t shed a tear. He lifts his head hoping the welled up tears in his eyes to drain fast through his ducks. He irritably palms at the top of his head. Elena, with her composure holding still, expands her lungs to temper her emotions.

“And you never told me why.”

Elena’s lips part first with a gentle ‘tsk.’ Diego turns his chin towards his right and steals a side glance over his shoulder.

“You know why,” Elena replies slow and low.

Diego’s head revolves back to center and his head drops, him sniggering bitterly under his breath, his head slowly shaking side-to-side, “I never wanted it,” he states gnawing at his lower lip, “I said I would give up everything. Everything.”

“I know,” Elena replies trying her best to keep her composure, “nothing has changed. Only time. You need to move on.”

“Lena… please….”

.

**Up at Penthouse | London, UK**

“It is indeed a new era,” Mr. Chambers comments with a light stun on his face.

Elio is sitting on his butt with his legs crossed at the ankle. The cushion actually turns out to be very comfortable. It’s like sitting on a plush yet supportive meditation pillow.

As far as mates go, Elio is categorically lesser. He does not have a family who are capable of paying a sizable dowry, an alpha in his lineage, or a pack to send him off properly to Oliver: not to mention a solid ancestry or the name-sake. So, it is quite easy conclusion to arrive that the hazel eyes has not been bred into enjoying the finer things the kind of Oliver’s old man only know and familiar with. Definitely unrefined for the Chambers.

By hearing Elio not wanting what most omegas typically ask, Oliver’s father cannot hide his astonishment. Because with everything going on with media and the string of law suits, Mr. Chambers expected Elio to come at him with outrageous demands.

“So, if Oliver didn’t send you and you don’t want anything from me, no money, no stock option, no publicity, then tell me, why did you insist on meeting me in person in the first place?”

“I requested for your time, sir, because I wanted to know what it was like.”

“What was ‘what’ like? Say it plainly, young man.”

Elio lifts his gaze up and meets the old alpha’s eyes. Mr. Chambers’ eyes are looking back at him with intrigue and curiosity.

“If I’m not so forward, I would like to know what it was like for you to be in the room when you made the decision to–.”

“Go on,” the old man encourages the hazel eyes.

“Terminate your children’s foundation, LIFT.”

The blood drains from Mr. Chambers’ face. Way too quickly. Witnessing the opening, Elio soldiers on.

“Knowing that it is the only remaining entity of your wife’s legacy,” Elio sucks in a quick sharp inhale, trying not to cringe, “your mate,” and he blinks once hard, “I want to know what it was like and how you felt when you cast your vote to agree on dismantling it.”

The old alpha’s eyes narrow and before Elio can figure what is going on, he breaks out into a series of loud belly laugh, the literal ‘Hah! Hah! Hah!’ His laughter echoes and bounces off the walls in converging and crashing waves. It continues for a couple of minutes. With a widest grin on his face, Mr. Chambers beams down at Elio.

“I haven’t laugh like that in years,” the old man says, the remaining laughs puffing out of him, quieter.

He reaches for his tumbler and swigs the rest into his mouth in one gulp. The sting of alcohol makes his face muscles to pull at his lower jaw. And the old alpha flaps his tongue over the roof of his mouth at the after taste lingering on his tongue before he says, “well, you want to know what it was like.”

Elio senses something dangerous brewing. The omega’s eyes take in the way Oliver’s father leans back at his ludicrously expensive executive chair. Then, the old man rolls his fingertips on the armrest, from pinky to index, in a pointed strum after another. The hazel eyes feels his throat tightening.

“If you want to hear it from me, as you so eloquently requested,” the old man states low, curling his upper lip a little in a ‘let’s see how you fare when you see a bit of my anger’ look, “I first want you to put your pretty mouth into a good use.”

Elio’s eyes widens, tucking his chin in towards his throat, completely stunned. Yet, he knows Mr. Chambers is not done.

“You see, I have big hairy balls,” he gestures his hands, as if he is holding his gonads in his grip, “and no good obedient omega can ever attempt or dare to have both of them in their sweet little mouth,” and he leans forward, propping himself on his elbows over his thighs, “so let me offer you a little advice that might help you in your endeavor.”

The face expression on the old alpha’s face changes into that of psychopath in a horror movie, “here’s how you do it,” he carries on low, with his self-importance running high, “first you start with stuffing your pretty little mouth with one,” and the way he pushes his tongue against the inside of his mouth blatantly and explicitly makes Elio almost gag, “then you hold the other one, like so and tongue it in.”

Elio is now visibly trembling, his knuckles turning white.

“Once you have both in, I’d like for you to suck on it like your life depends on it,” he enunciates the words as if he is putting a nail in the coffin. What follows sends the bone-chilling jolt down on Elio’s spine. Mr. Chambers’ tone precipitously changes into a delightful note as if two were having a nice chit-chat, “and be an angel and lull your tongue generously. Oh, and don’t forget to enjoy yourself. I like to bottle omegas’ slick for souvenir.”

The Adam’s apple on Elio’s ethereal throat waves visibly _hard_.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –this chapter is another part of explaining _why_ transcriber-me chose to have a glitch on ElliOllie’s soul connection.  
> –Diego and Elena were basically in a May-December relationship that lasted two years in that house appeared, a couple of weeks ago. Let me know what you think of this side-character plot. *wink*  
> .  
> –Oh, I know… two chapters in one day. *nervous teeth-wide smile with shrugged shoulder* It just _happened_ this way. *rubbing at bloodshot eyes* I don’t see it from happening any time soon but… I hope you like it.  
> .  
> Thank you for following this AU along, your time and interest.  
> With a clear intention and unbridled compassionate heart, may your days be filled with joy and happiness. Please be healthy and stay safe. If not for else, for little ole me.  
> 


	20. Looking Too Closely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver finds out through some unscheduled encounter of what Elio has been doing for the past six weeks. And his brilliant scholastic mind goes straight to the worst case scenario.

**Chapter Nineteen. Looking Too Closely**

Oliver cups his hands urgently on Elio’s face, his eyes wide in shock,

“Did he hurt you? did you force himself on you?”

.

**The Whipple Museum, Department of History and Philosophy of Science Building | University of Cambridge**

It is an odd occasion.

When Oliver comes back from his lecture that morning, the assistant (that’s right: _Assistant_ , not TA) greets him by saying, she didn’t know someone was visiting him this morning.

Oliver makes a mild expression with a closed lip smile, and simply goes “oh~?”

“He’s been waiting for you,” Sam, almost a personal assistant the university has forced upon him, who happens to be the stratosphere level administrator, states it plainly gesturing the other end of her pen in her grip. Since day one, she not only has lessened the load for Oliver’s TA but streamlined the overall office process.

The very first thing hits Oliver’s nose as he enters his office is a thick sandal wood that makes his eyes water instantly.

“Oh, professor!” a red-headed man with a thick mid-western accent gets up off the chair, “it’s so very nice to meet you, in person. The pictures are not doing you any justice.”

He introduces his name as ‘Mark with C’ and he is just a courier and that he is very happy to spend a couple of days with his sweetheart, “I’ve never thought that I would come visit London.” He then babbles on about how the weather is similar to his hometown during winter season, quickly changing subject that he has a tendency of talking on and on, then he leafs through his briefcase. And he pulls out a neat bunch of file with a clear clipboard.

“Please, sign here, here, aaand here,” Marc drawls with a peppy-step on his voice.

When Oliver looks at him with a mild inquisitiveness, Marc waves his hand, “this is nothing legal. No subpoena, no summons. I was assured that I wouldn’t be doing any indecent delivery across the ocean. I had it in separate writing,” and waves his eyebrows as if Oliver understands whatever he is doing with his face muscles.

Oliver’s eyes speedily examine the document line by line and he jots his initials and signature on the dotted lines.

“Oh!” Marc grins with a sheepish look, and pulls out soelmething else from his briefcase before he asks, “would it be too much trouble for me to get your autograph?” presenting Oliver’s first book in front of him.

.

Once the man from the states leaves his office, Oliver walks around to his desk and takes out a letter opener. The blond runs the blunt blade along the edge of the manila envelope's narrow side. He carefully pulls out a small stack of papers. Oliver tilts his head, his eyes taking in the content of the document. The alpha’s nose lifts only just, inhaling in an inaudible sharp breath. One is a mate declaration certificate with the seal from the county in New England. The other is a duplicate copy of legal document regarding Oliver’s mated status. And there is a third one: a thick stack of document that appears to be a contract. Oliver sets his jaws. And he fishes out his smartphone and thumbs on it to find Elena’s number.

“Hey, Elena. Call me when you get a chance,” and ends the call.

Because the county Oliver’s US address has been on for his citizenship residency is one of the biggest one in the state of New Hampshire. The matter such as this, therefore, requires: either one. the petitioner going in person, or two. a legal representative with the power of attorney going in in his stead, for this to have submitted from the first place. With everything going on, Oliver didn’t think to apply for these in U. S. It is great that what he meant to do has been done. And the blue eyes is grateful if Elena took time to streamline everything. Then, his eyes catch the signature. He recognizes it instantly; it’s the signature of his old man’s right hand: Chris. Immediately, his upper lip curls, the bridge of his nose wrinkling deep. All of a sudden everything clicks in. Oliver swiftly asks for his TA.

“Yes, Prof?” his TA pops their head in, with an unassuming expression, chewing on some candy bar.

“Something’s just come up unexpectedly,” Oliver says low, turning around to gather his jacket, “the powerpoint is–.”

“Not to worry, professor,” TA steps in, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

.

Oliver rushes to his car, almost tosses his belongings in the backseat, with his phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. In his head, the stark image of self-satisfied face of Thompson plays on, word-for-word; in his omniscient ‘I’ve seen it all’ unnervingly composed tone,

\ “When you look back at all this, Oliver, just remember, we tried to reason with you.” \

He mutters curse words under his breath. I should have known, he says with gritted teeth to himself, _I should have known_.

For the past six weeks, Oliver came home to Elio thoroughly showered and in a new set of clothes, his teeth brushed, mouth rinsed. The blond considered that as Elio being considerate of Oliver’s super-keen sense of smell. There was no reason for Oliver to think otherwise because it is natural for the omega in a given pair to change (adapt and adjust) for their alpha after they had their first heat-rut cycle.

Since their reunion after the seminar that Thursday, Elio was never shy of showing what he wanted from Oliver. The omega has been waking up with an inexplicably stiff morning wood almost every day. The very fact of having Elio next to him each new day was already a surreal experience for the alpha but this was something different. And without ever being bashful, the hazel eyes slotted his bat between the alpha’s taut runner’s butt cheeks, still half-asleep, clung to Oliver with a slow grind, peppering kisses on Oliver’s toasty skin. When Oliver’d roll their bodies over, he has been rewarded with Elio’s perky nipples, sprawling his body lazily and extremely lithely over their bed; his chocolate curls falling all over his face, not a care in the world, his long eyelashes batting the air like he’d never want to wake up from this. The blond prowled over the hazel eyes’ welcoming body with a full go-ahead to suckle on Elio’s scenting glands. Then, his omega would whisper naughty-naughty words into Oliver’s ears which sent shivers all over, each and every time. The minute his cock made entrance to the dark curls’ slander body, his kiss swollen lips let out a low long satisfied moan that only encouraged the blue eyes to thrust eagerly into Elio’s body deep, one heavy wave after another.

And after two weeks of their stay-home hormone party, Oliver has been able to ask what _he_ wanted from Elio. Especially, from Friday afternoon to early Sunday morning, Oliver has been thoroughly enjoying how good Elio’s cock feels in his body. I had a very good teacher, remember, the omega whispered lazily, raking his teeth over the alpha’s ear shell, slowfucking into him, referencing back to that day in Monet’s berm when Oliver had him finger. The blue eyes shuddered how Elio made him feel. The way his mate evolved in his way of three-fingering him only intensified when the hazel eyes smooched his fingers ever-so-slowly with a knowing look, and made sure Oliver was paying attention, before coating his slick over them. Hot exhale of anticipation streamed out through the blue eye’s nostrils. In smooth motion, the alpha felt Elio’s wet fingers gliding inside him, effortlessly; finding the nerve cluster seated deep within his body. If the hazel eyes was feeling particularly frisky, he’d strum his fingertips once inside on the outer membrane of his prostate which made the blond jerk in extreme pleasure.

“If you are not careful, I might not last,” Oliver foreshadowed with a salacious grin, lazy-kissing Elio on his cheek.

The dark curls licked along the blue eyes scenting gland on the crook of his neck with his lower lip languidly, making a satisfied hum, and drawls “no~, that won’t do~.”

_You glorious creature._

Elio buried his nose as he huffed out a breathy laugh into Oliver’s skin, _oh,_ _you know it._

.

Though Oliver distinctly remember almost each Friday for the past six weeks, that his gorgeous very recently washed unruly curls had a subtle hint of cigar, he didn’t think twice about it. Yes, the remnant of cigar smoke Elio’s hair carried home could only be from a specific high-end brand, of which happens to be his old man’s go-to kind, the blue eyes’ brain didn’t want to go there. Because there was no way _he_ would be here.

Oliver drives to the business district where skyscrapers are. Soon, he parks the car in the far corner. Yet, he doesn’t get out. The alpha just sits there, his eyebrows furrowing deep, his eyes pinned out, his cogs turning, pressing his lips together making a firm thin line, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He rubs at his forehead and swears under his breath before his face expression changes into ‘so be it.’ He swings open his driver’s side door, shuts it with more force than his usual self would, then walks straight to the other side of the corner where the executive elevator is. Then, he slots out his black card from his wallet, does a swipe with a wave of his wrist, rather scornfully, and punches in six digit code before pressing on the button that says PH. When the door glides close, Oliver clenches his jaws, looking up at the LED on top of the door.

When the elevator whirs quietly to a stop, Oliver taps his feet on the floor impatiently waiting for the door to open. Before the gap of the door is all the way ajar, the alpha rushes in. He is very familiar with the layout; he knows where he’s going. His stride is wider than usual, almost jogging. And to his surprise, Oliver hears orchestral music. Pretentious prick, the blond thinks to himself. To his surprise, the alpha finds Elio sitting on an omega cushion on the floor, his father on his chair, once he turns around the pillar behind the bar. Elio is the one catches Oliver’s scent first. His magnificent head turns around and gives him a smile, his face almost looking like he’s about to say ‘oh, hey~.’ Just as quickly, the hazel eyes catches on and gets up from the floor. Oliver shows his teeth like a snarl but Elio walks close to him with both his palms at the blond’s chest level;

“Whoa, whoa, whoa–,” Elio tries to calm him.

The blue eyes quickly drops his gaze, though his blood is boiling rapidly inside, and sighs out long audibly in a way, 'this you see, this anger is not towards you’ to Elio. The omega looks up at him, his widened hazel eyes darting anxiously over Oliver’s face.

“Oliver, let me explain,” Elio begins.

Oliver quickly shakes his head, rumbling his throat with two distinct, mhm hm, meaning ‘no,’ and says, “we are going home.”

“I see that you have finally received the package,” Oliver’s father states nonchalantly, putting his interlace hands on his thigh.

Elio’s head turns to the old alpha’s direction with ‘what are you talking about?’ then quickly turns back to Oliver. The blue eyes clenches his teeth, his face muscles trembling, nostrils flaring, and his dominant hand rise, his elbow bent, about to point his index at his old man as he huffs heavily through his nose, “ _NO_!” But, he stops himself trying really hard not to explode, literally snarling, and lets out a steaming exhale through his nose. “You don’t. get. to. talk. to. me,” Oliver seethes through his gritted teeth before he grabs Elio by his upper arm. Then, he catches himself, relaxes the grip on his mate’s arm, turns his gaze to Elio, and quickly says as evenly as he is able to his omega, “come on, we’re leaving.”

“Son!”

Oliver’s body turns rigid as he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose clenching his jaws. The dark curls’ eyes shift and he quickly circles around in front of his alpha, putting palms on his chest. With increased pressure than the one before, the hazel eyes tries to stop him from charging towards the old man. And just as instantly, Elio looks back over his shoulder and goes, “Arthur!!”

The blond head snaps down-n-around to Elio. _Arthur!? …how? …whu–??_

“Ahh––,” the old man taunts drawing out the syllable, with a quiet snort under his breath as a punctuation before he continues, “he didn’t tell you he has been coming here. How interesting.”

.

**Six weeks ago | Continuing from the end of Chapter Nineteen | Penthouse**

Mister Chambers is looking down at him with a victorious expression on his face. His keen eyes are studying how this young twenty something omega'd react and/or handle the situation. This is a game to him. Just like everything else. Yet the old alpha has a hard time reading Elio. Because him missing scents appears to create some barrier, preventing the old alpha’s long since honed people skill. No matter, he thinks to himself, an unchartered territory only makes things more interesting.

“You’re right,” Elio finally begins after what it felt like a long interval, his gaze still on his hands, “I am a lowly omega who was born with disability. I am from a family to which you will never even give a split second of attention. Not only that, I have no ambition to somehow move up the ladder for the sake of material gain and social status.

But I want to ask you this. If the situation were reversed and you as an esteemed and one of the most powerful alpha living in this planet finds out how your mate is being treated,” then the hazel eyes looks up at Arthur, staring dead straight into his eyes, “What would you do?”

“Hah! Me mating with an omega?” he waves his hand flippantly twice, before bursting into ‘I feel entertained but not that funny’ laugh-out-loud, “although,” he mulls, “fucking an omega sure is an incomparable experience, I admit. But finding one worthy of me ought to happen first, don’t you agree? Besides, male omegas are fickle creatures.”

Elio hums low, holding his gaze, with a hint of smile but just barely.

“Then, knowing your son, and yourself, how would he react if he finds out that you had me knelt in front of you _without_ his consent? Let alone his permission.”

The old man huffs with a cynical smirk on his face, “that would mean my naïve son has bonded with you. Which I highly–.”

Elio’s head tips up only a little before he reaches his hand up and pulls the neck line of collar, exposing the skin there for the old alpha to see. Oliver's father’s face expression goes still.

“You asked me what brought me to this side of the world, Mister Chambers. I came here to ask for help. As a family. I jumped through whatever hoops and tricks you were throwing at me to get this opportunity. I came here to discuss a possible business proposition since you currently hold 25 percent of the share. Instead, you were only interested in flexing your gender superiority than treating me as a person.”

.

**Present day | Penthouse, London UK**

“Wait, what?” Oliver asks low ducking his head a little, looking into Elio’s eyes more deeply. “but–, but–, how was that even–?”

Then a disheartening thought dawns on Oliver and the alpha turns around with urgency.

“Did he hurt you? did he force himself on you?” cupping Elio’s face with his both hands, his sapphire blue eyes darting rapidly side to side, studying his omega’s face. Elio’s hazel eyes wide, with his mouth parted in shock, the omega looks up at him.

Oliver caresses the gorgeous head of his, trying to read or sense what in the world made Elio to sit on the floor with his old man. Elio is not giving him anything yet his face just shows him being stunned and overwhelmed.

“That son of a–,” the blond’s head snaps up at his father’s direction and the dark curls raises his hands up and embraces the back of Oliver’s hand with his palm, stopping him from charging back towards him. But Oliver’s shoulder pushes forward.

“Baby, no–,” Elio interjects, increasing the pressure on his grip and pushes his weight over his alpha’s body, squaring his shoulder, halting him from going into anger-triggered rut. But a shade of red tint flashes in Oliver’s eyes.

“ _Look_ at me!” the omega affirms calmly, without raising his voice, and his throat waves hard at the intensity.

Oliver’s chin tips down at Elio’s direction, almost in snapping mooring, their noses almost brush together, his eyes blinking quickly. Elio just used his _voice_ on him. The hazel eyes dumps his chest looking up at the blond, all worried and deeply concerned.

“Tell me you are okay, tell me he didn’t do anything.”

“Elio, Elio, Elio–,” Elio says shaking his head lightly, holding his gaze, “he didn’t do anything, Oliver,” and he lets out a soft pleading whine, the heads of his eyebrows raising up.

“No one, _No One!_ tells you to sit on the floor!”

 _I know, baby. I know. But I’m fine_ , Elio echoes in his head and he knows Oliver heard it clearly. And the blond closes his eyes shut to temper his anger.

“We’re definitely gonna talk about this. But now–, _please_ , let’s just go home,” Oliver mumbles just audibly.

Elio simply nods quietly, very faint smile on his face. Oliver dumps out a sigh of relief. The hazel eyes raises his hand to signal ‘one second’ with his eyebrows slightly raised. When Oliver tries to object, Elio looks up at him with doe eyes, pleading him: not forgetting to whine out softly. At that, Oliver breathes out his frustration through his parted mouth before he nods his agreement in slow stuttering interval, twice. Elio tips up onto his toes and presses his lips on Oliver’s cheek before he turns around to walk towards Oliver’s father. Oliver squares his jaw, shoving both his hands into his pants pocket, and takes in whatever is happening before his eyes. Only less than 15 feet away, his old man and his mate are talking about something. And he sees his father’s lips moving as he says, ‘of course, I understand.’ Elio’s unruly curls bounces vertically very minutely as he acknowledges back, before he turns around to walk back towards Oliver.

Elio walks with him but he looks back at Oliver’s father’s direction. And Oliver catches it. They are almost at the elevator is when Elio whines. The blond snaps out of his rage and realizes his grip is harder than he’d ever intended. The dark curls bends his arm, squeezing his hand into a grip to relieve the pressure, rolling his shoulder with a little frown. Oliver subdues a growl.

“Oliver–.”

Of all the things Oliver could get upset from, it surprises Elio that he was right. That his alpha is most upset about seeing his omega sitting on an omega floor cushion. The hazel eyes reaches his palm on the alpha’s sternum. Oliver sighs out his shudder, his eyes rolling up before his eyelids flutter shut. Both are aware, Elio’s scent and his touch are thawing him out of the intense frustration and wading him into calm. The thing is, today, it’s just taking a little longer than usual. The dark curls nuzzles his face against Oliver: the part where his pec and his shoulder meet. The blue eyes bobs his head in a quick string of short nods as if he is trying to, ‘okay-okay, I’ll try harder.’

.

By the time the elevator opens up to a level, where a gush of mixed odor of below ground dust, concrete, epoxy floor coating, tire rubber, and gasoline assaults their nostrils, the tension between Oliver and Elio reaches just over the boiling point. Though whatever Elio has been up to will soon be explained, which it has a lot to do with the certification and the other thing, Oliver cannot help but to rub at his eyes. Elio feels as though he can’t take this anymore. Once they reach Oliver’s car, the dark curls gazes up through his long lashes and is assured of his alpha being not kosher with him. He sets his jaws.

Two loud thuds echo in a quick sequence. Elio catches Oliver’s hand trembling minutely when he tries to press the ignition button.

“Alright, stop!” the hazel eyes commands with his _voice_.

The blond’s face snaps toward him and Elio’s assumption is confirmed. His red iris is already halfway threaded into Oliver’s sapphire blue. Elio doesn’t know how to drive and Oliver is in no shape to drive in this state. The omega needs to make a choice and he knows there is only one way to get his alpha back from going into blind rut. So, Elio presses the master lock button before he straddles over Oliver’s lap. Breathing fast, his site blurred, the blue eyes manages to at least make sense of what Elio is doing. But his words fail him, not even a stammer comes out: just soundless movement of his lips. The hazel eyes nuzzles his cheek over Oliver’s jaw line and reaches his long fingers for the seat reclining lever.

“Elio––, whu–??” the alpha looks up at his mate with wide eyes, his vocal cord lets out half spoken wods.

To that, Elio peppers his lips over Oliver’s neck and whispers low with a growl, into the blond's ear:

“ _Fuck me_ , Elio. Fuck me right now.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –chapter title from a song with the same name by Fink  
> –oh, yes, my little wink to a famous movie line. If you caught it, you have my gratitude.  
> .  
> As always, Thank you for reading, your time and interest.  
> Please kindly remember to stay safe and keep on taking good care of yourself.


	21. I found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ CAUTION]  
> Non-linear timeline is (well, has been) on its full swing  
> .  
> Shameless smut and... the business/financial/contract stuff that this transcriber-me wrecked my dumb-dumb head over with which I’m glad that it’s over and done. *dumping out a huge sigh of relief* oh, yes, no matter how elaborate these elements may appear, they are there simply to serve a bridge _for me_ to have ElliOllie sexy scenes. *unashamed wide cheeky grin*  
> 

**Chapter Twenty. I found**

Hah–aht, hah–aht, hah–aht

Oliver didn’t know his grip, under his rut state, can rip a double seam of a cotton blend slack. After a sudden whoosh of his body reclining back with the seat (the old car seat let out a muffled thump as it held the weight of two full grown men), two scramble when the alpha cannot do the same with Elio’s form fitting boxer fast enough. The blond’s hands aren’t working properly, though they may be more powerful than his non-rut-self, he ends up pawing at the garment longer than he originally wanted. He curses under his breath, his hold on rationality waning quicker than he anticipated. A distinct yet ear-drum delightful hard rip, the fabric finally gives way. To Oliver’s dismay, the elastane netting spreads like a taut spider web. Elio pffts, the sound only to get muffled into the alpha’s lips as he kisses him on and on. The blue eyes threads his fingers uncouthly in-between-through, in an attempt to press his long finger in Elio’s inviting rim. The alpha grunts low finding it a bit annoying. So with a twist of his wrist outward, he savors the remnants of reedy mesh string of Elio's ripped open underpants. His gorgeous omega whimpers impatiently rubbing his clothed erection against Oliver’s crotch, making the blond’s heart race out of his mind.

European laws about public indecency is much strict than that of U.S., regardless of the perpetrating pair’s mated status: especially, for omegas. Whether his Elio knows about this or not, Oliver grits his teeth, grabbing the hazel eyes waist—his thumbs digging into the juts in the dip of Elio’s hip—to give his body a little hoist upward and get his engorged cock aligned between Elio’s slicking valley. _The rules be damned_ , the blue eyes thinks to himself. Oliver feels a wry smile blooming against his lips as Elio sucks them loose from a deep kiss. He licks the tip of Oliver’s nose. One pair of glazed eyes are looking intensely at another pair of almost twinkling with excitement.

The car is too small; no matter how far Oliver has his driver’s seat slid back to fit his all-legs-self into it. Elio never questioned why his alpha prefers compact vintage vehicles, until right now. And he is not going to start making it an issue of how cramped this space they are in. Not now.

Shoulders shrugged, strands of chocolate curls at the back of his head clinging to the ceiling fabric, Elio’s mouth falls open as he settles himself onto the alpha’s erection in one smooth glide, the tip of his wet pink tongue rolling up slow, his gaze locked dead-on the blond’s. Oliver lets out a breathless exhale like an extended puff. The omega feels so full. And the soreness of being stretched like this gives him an added sense of thrill with a strange feeling of being so secure and grounded. _Whoever said the soul and the body met in the pineal gland is a fool. It’s the asshole_ , Elio spits the thought in his head. Oliver’s eyebrows tip up as a non-verbal response to his mate’s new found revelation, with an amused rumble of his throat. The hazel eyes wrinkles his nose at that, the tips of his mouth quirking up.

How incredibly tight and toasty Elio’s body is. A long drawn-out involuntary grunt ripples out of Oliver’s chest. _Call me hopeless but no matter how many times we do this, it’s new and original each time_ , the alpha rasps in his head. Elio gives his mate a lopsided grin as he reaches his one hand for the handle right on the rim above the back seat window, the other on Oliver’s chest: right in the middle of where his heart thumps in hundred miles on hour—his fingers splayed apart so wide. _Stop thinking and start fucking me_ , Elio replies in his head. Oliver growls between his teeth, raking all ten of his blunt fingertips on Elio’s back. The hazel eyes grins wide, his eyes rolling over, and wades his pelvis to-and-fro.

Hah–aht, hah–aht, hah–aht

Oliver’s knees open as wide as the front seat leg room allows and he digs the heels of his shoes as hard as he can to support. Adding a tilt of his hip in an angel, Oliver strains to keep as little gap as possible between their bodies.

“Oh… god–, you feel so good, baby” Elio praises low, his forehead dewing with sweat beads, “you fill me up so well, each. and. every. time,” and he increases the speed of his movement to a trot.

The leather seat starts to let out squeaks at the increased movement. Elio’s right knee slips from the curved edge of the driver’s seat. Oliver quickly cups the dark curls’ ankle to give him a support so he won’t stop.

Hah–aht, hah–aht, hah–aht

 _Why didn’t we do this before?_ Elio raptures in his head. A small sweat bead rather hurriedly trails down along the bridge of his nose. He looks so undone, so exquisite. Oliver looks up at his gorgeous omega with teeth-wide grin. Cramped space be damned. Their bodies are immersed in all sorts of chemicals in a right way: on top of added adrenaline of having semi-public sex.

“Tell me you’re close,” the alpha breathes the words. Elio nods twice quickly then three more times. He’s shaking: panting out of his existence. Forehead to forehead, the blond caresses his hands around the dark curls’ small round butt and moves his hips in the same beat and opposite direction.

“Oh god––,” Elio lets out involuntarily, with a call-out that sounds more like a whimper than words. And the omega takes hold of Oliver’s face with both his hands and kisses him with all he has, as his body waves and stutters. Oliver grunts hard, into the hazel eye’s mouth as he comes.

.

 **Six weeks ago |** **Continuing from the last chapter | Penthouse**

“Clever,” Arthur says with a single low hum. The old alpha peels his left hand loose from his grip and lifts it from his lap, very measuredly. He tilts his head, minutely, before his fingers rub at the jaw line of his face.

Only sign of an acknowledgement on Elio’s face is a small smile that faded in less than a blink of an eye. His eyes look focused and determined in a way that gives ‘don’t you fuck with me.’ Mr. Chambers tsks quietly, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Tell me, young Elio, how is it that you came to conclude that I’d be willing to listen to you in the first place?”

Elio inhales deeply through his nose, “because–,” and gives a little pause as if to make a point, “just as I know my feelings and intentions for Oliver are true and pure, you are who you are,” and he takes a soft inhale, “sir,” with an knowing upward glance tucking his chin a little towards his chest.

A smile tints on Arthur’s face as his hums, “and who might that be?”

“A business man.”

“Ahhh–––,” the old alpha says and gets off of his chair then brushes his front. A motion Elio has seen so many times from Oliver. And Mr. Chambers walks towards the hazel eyes direction. Elio tenses up, very minutely. But the old man gives a perceptive side glance as he walks passed by the seated omega towards the wet bar. A singular pleasant chin of crystal glass chimes in the air behind Elio’s back.

“Now, tell me, Mister Perlman. Scotch or Vodka?”

“Sir?” Elio looks over his shoulder.

Arthur lets out a noncommittal monosyllabic sound before his head motions the same: looking back at Elio.

“It is clear to me _now_ that you want to do a business with me,” the old alpha enunciates his words a quarter beat slow, “it is my tradition, that I bring out the best liquor for such occasion, young Elio.”

Elio blinks without words.

“So–,” Arthur opens the cabinet and asks again, “Scotch or Vodka?”

.

**Present day | Parking lot, inside Oliver’s car**

_Can’t believe we just did that_ , Elio thinks in his head, panting two beats too quick. The fullness of Oliver’s cock between his cheeks somehow gives him a strange sense of contentment and security. The alpha didn’t knot him: not a place nor time. But he felt the warm load shot into his body as he reached his climax. And Elio rewarded him with an incredibly supple movement of his pelvic floor. The way his body instinctively squeezed around his post-ejaculation erection was beyond mind-blowing; Oliver’s body shuddered, reveling on one ripple after the next—completely satiated to his core.

Oliver gently strokes Elio’s sweat damp curls, leveling his breaths, “Catharsis.”

Elio lifts his head, a few strands of his hair clinging to Oliver’s cheeks, “mhuh??”

The blond runs the back of his softly rounded fingers along and over the hazel eyes’ blush pink cheek bone, his eyes gazing right into Elio’s. He takes in an inaudible breath through his gently parted lips.

“…what~?” Elio asks softly, studying Oliver.

The alpha’s face forms a warm smile, _how lucky I am to have such a brazen and kinky mate as you are_.

The dark curls belly-chuckles yet only soft huffs stream out of his nose, “kinky?”

“Yes,” the blue eyes pauses, “kinky and twisted.”

.

On the way home, once they are able to unglue themselves from each other, Elio fills Oliver in of what had happened six weeks ago. He doesn’t react to how serendipitously Elio managed to get his old man to be piqued with an unanticipated interest. The omega catches the look on Oliver’s face and blinks quickly before swallowing hard, hoping he wouldn’t ask the one question. Thankfully, the alpha doesn’t. So Elio carries on and tells the rest of the story.

**Six weeks ago | Penthouse**

To Elio’s surprise, Arthur walks back and passes by him (yet again) with two glasses of expensive liquor filled crystal tumblers in his hands. The omega glances up for a second, keeping his composure. The old alpha places the one he poured for Elio on the table in an angle from his seat. Elio simply takes in this motion and Mr. Chambers appears to be aware of such. The old man sits down, brushing his front with his free hand, before giving Elio a knowing look. A small smile of enjoyment appears on Arthur’s face and disappears before he extends his open palm, gesturing an invitation for the dark curls to come and sit. The young man’s eyebrows rise. Mr. Chambers chuckles soundlessly under his breath before he finally vocalizes, “please, Mister Perlman, come and take a seat. For we are to _discuss_ the matter of our business.”

.

Arthur is quite surprised how prepared Elio is as he carefully reads through the papers.

“How have you come to this information?” the old man asks low. He means of the fact that he took 10 million dollars to off-shore account by funneling it through Switzerland then to Cayman Island during the merger last year. There is this little work-around in U.S. SEC provision that he has till third quarter of two years from the day of the official merger to report this earning.

Elio only blinks, with a look of ‘I believe you already know from where.’

Arthur lets out, “ahhh–––. Ingenious, as I’ve already said.”

“The division that has been working on anti-addiction med for years.”

“Oh~, and Miss Elena conveniently think that you will be able to convince me to buy this division,” states Arthur, with a ‘I’m not a fool’ loud- _ha!_ , “this will take years,” and he tosses the portfolio file tartly on the table.

Elio reaches for the folder and flips it to the later part before rotating it for Arthur to see, “look at the results. This one works. It’s a money-loser as you just said, yes, and it’s gonna take years.”

“They don’t have the capital, the patience or the will.”

“But _You_ do.”

“And how do you know, young Elio?”

The omega leans a bit forward and leafs a few more pages. And he straightens his back up slowly, letting go of his hand from the page. The page contained an information about how the merger between _Chambers Group_ and _Ωtnæzöm_ has been initiated. It was an intentional orchestration from Mr. Chambers and him alone: with two distinct goals.

“At some point in time, you have sensed two of your designated successors were working behind your back to push you out of the company. _Your_ company. Miraculously, someone convinced Ωtnæzöm to sell a lump of their capital bleeding divisions in lieu of a merger. That dropped a drain on their earning, their stock price went right through the roof, right after the day they signed the agreement. That’s where your 10 million is from.”

“And how was it that a music and performing arts student such as yourself is able to know and recite all this information? As brilliant as you are at the keys, Elio, I doubt that things such as this comes naturally to you.”

Two men are simply looking at each other without words, a palpable tension hanging between them. Arthur can tell the wheels are turning in Elio’s head. The omega sets his jaws.

“No, it doesn’t,” Elio ducks his head, blushing a little, “I have worked on it for a while,” he confesses frankly.

Though it came as a surprise, Mr. Chambers does catch his genuine honesty. So he asks, “for how long?”, couldn’t help himself from adding a hint of warmth.

The hazel eyes dart to the side before he answers, “three days.”

The old man hums. He reaches for his glass, swirls the liquid within for a few seconds in his grip as if he is thinking about something very important, and takes a slow sip.

“Now, I take it you and,” he coughs Elena’s name into his soft grip before his continues, “knows what I’m going to do next.”

Elio nods. And Arthur pulls the edges of his closed mouth of his lips and it forms a firm thin line.

“Does Oliver know this?”

“No, sir.”

Arthur rubs the inside of his open palm over his lips, pondering deeply, “Yet, you came to me anyways. Brazen, Mister Perlman. Was it Miss Elena’s idea?” Because from the looks of it, Elena and Elio clearly knew that the omega would be walking into a monster’s den since he has been the one who has everyone in marionette strings all along.

Elio swallows hard, “no, it was my insistence,” his demeanor suddenly shifts into something very still yet daring, “Mister Chambers.”

Because the other reason for all this charade was to give Oliver no choice to resurface to the world. Because Arthur knew the merger would undoubtedly trigger a reformation within Chambers Group. And the first and the most definite thing to be shed in that restructuring, from Ωtnæzöm’s executive’s point of view, was LIFT. If Oliver is as smart as the old alpha has known him to be, the similar chain of action were bound to take place. So things have been, thus far. And once Oliver is pushed far too much and for too long, he’d have no choice but to declare his 20 percent in attempts to save it. With one caveat though, he have to become a senior executive of now Chambers and Ωtnæzöm.

“It’s his rightful place,” the old alpha remarks his voice colored with a bit of indignation. He swigs the rest of the content into his mouth. And the twelve thousand dollar a bottle liquor doesn’t taste as good as he remembers. Because he’s now fully aware that one thing his conniving mind didn’t foresee was a wild card called _Elio_ : let alone their status of being mated. Sure, he could eliminate Elio without even batting his eyelashes. Or he could simply make this young omega disappear without anyone knowing. Yet, what makes having Elio as his son’s mated omega tricky is that Arthur knows how meticulous Miss Elena operates—he had seen it while she was working under his late-wife. This is an elaborate chess game he didn’t see coming and there is no way for the old alpha to wiggle out of this.

“So, what do you want?” Mr. Chambers asks point blank.

“You will agree to let LIFT separate from your company. You will not pressure Oliver to drop his dream of being an academic for the sake of your ambition and your agenda.”

“Let me guess, the details of this _deal_ –.”

“Elena has it.”

“What if I do not agree to your terms?”

“That,” Elio gets up, his not-even-glanced-on glass tumbler left on the table, “you already know the answer to. Yet, you will never listen to a lowly omega such as me.”

Because of the merger, the sized-up corporation now falls under multiple jurisdiction. Not to mention the fact that even a slightest rumor about Arthur’s scheme were to leak out to the press, the market share will fall below and _he_ ’d be the one losing money, with or without Oliver’s part of the share.

Elio gives the old man a firm look of ‘don’t say I’ve never warn you’ and offers a nod before he walks away from him.

“One condition.”

The omega pauses his steps.

“If you are so amenable,” Arthur clearly his throat, trying to hide his nerves, “I would like to request a favor.”

Elio fills his lungs and looks over his shoulder, “a favor?”

“Yes, a small favor.”

The hazel eyes turns around slowly, breathing through his nose.

.

**Present day | Inside Oliver’s car**

“Elio–,” Oliver says his name with a frown, as he parks his car. Because the blond is aware that’s how his old man plays his games.

“Don’t _Elio_ me,” the hazel eyes protests with a nervous yet and defiant grin, “We need to figure out how to get inside,” and tosses his head towards the direction, “pass those paps.”

Oliver looks at the same direction where a swarm of paparazzi are gathered. Then, he dumps out his chest in a brief sigh and thinks, _Right._

With Elio’s backside being ripped, finding a clever way to dodge their prying eyes takes precedent. Oliver cannot afford the exposure of _his_ mounds of joy to the public as Elio’s body is his and his alone. In less than a split second, Oliver hunches forward a little and lets out a grunt with ‘Oof!’ Elio just slapped him on his chest with a pointed look.

“Mounds of joy??” the omega shots him a look.

And the blue eyes just shrugs his shoulders lightly with a wide wicked grin, “whut~~?”

“Who’s kinky and twisted now, huh?” Elio turns his torso and starts to poke and tickle Oliver before he says rather deliberately, “Lancelot.”

 _Did you just make a sexual pun out of the beloved legend of this land?_ Oliver laughs with giggles, play-tussling with him, _then, that makes you my Camelot._

.

The rip on the back of Elio’s trousers are thankfully covered by Oliver’s jacket. Tomorrow’s headline will read something both can never imagine. The dark curls walks in as if there is nothing different, a step ahead of him, the blond following right behind him. Once they are inside, two break out into a series of uncontrolled laugh. And Oliver scoops him up, cracking jokes about him keeping the pants.

“Wear it without any undies,” the blue eyes teases, “shirtless, right out of the shower,” and carries Elio up to their master bedroom.

.

The small favor Arthur propositioned was an hour of a day, every Friday, with him.

“I shall get that ornament,” Mr. Chambers pointed his index finger that held his glass towards the opulent concert grand on the other side of the penthouse, “tuned prior to our first time together.”

Elio took in a large breath before he said, “how can I trust you whether you are playing another one of your game?”

“Mm,” he humed briefly, pulling back his throat as he tries to hide his distaste towards being accused by an meager omega, “My methods are unorthodox but,” he gets up off his chair, walking towards the wet bar for a refill, “I’ll have Chris draw up a contract for you and Miss Elena to review by Monday.”

With a soft pop, a distinct sound of liquid being poured into a glass filled the silence between two men.

“I’m only here till mid-March. Only seven weeks, young Elio. From what I can see, you get what you want without any amendments or modification,” and Mister Chambers swiveled around with the tumbler in his grip, putting his other hand into his suit pants.

.

**Masterbedroom | Oliver’s place | London, UK**

After two more amazing sex, Oliver is leaned against Elio’s chest, listening to his heart beat. He doesn’t forget to grumble about how reckless Elio has been. The hazel eyes strokes the alpha’s sweat damp hair and softly answers him with an utmost warmth.

“You’ve reached at your own conclusion about telling me about our soulmate connection. Though it took two years, I– understand why you had to wait. And… in the same manner, I needed to do the same.”

_parce que c’était lui, parce que c’était moi_

“Because you trust _us_ ,” Oliver arrives at the conclusion Elio considered a few weeks ago; maybe even before that.

Elio nods slowly with a soft smile, “I knew that you will never question my integrity or my loyalty to you.”

Oliver fills his lungs incrementally, readjusting his head a little, “You are incredible.”

Elio simply presses his lips on top of Oliver’s head and lays a firm kiss.

“But promise me one thing,” the alpha says burying his nose on his omega’s skin.

“Anything.”

“From now on, you tell me _everything_.”

“Deal.”

.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Chapter Deleted Scene ]

**Six Week Ago**

The whole elevator ride Elio felt his heart thumping hard against his ribcage. He was feeling relieved that he got out of there alive. He was super thirsty, his hands cold, while his cheeks burning up. The elevator door almost soundlessly glided open and the hazel eyes was happy to two friendly faces he recognize. He quickens his steps with a smile, dumping out his chest. What he didn’t expect was him catching the end of their conversation.

“This isn’t how two adults who care about each other move on,” Elena said to Diego.

“No,” Diego replied barely moving his lips and clicked his tongue under his breath, “as far as I’m concerned, two adults who care about each other don’t move on at all.”

“Uh–––, is… everything okay?” _Damn, I shouldn’t have said anything,_ Elio regretted his mouth blurting out the stupid question.

“Yes,” Elena turned around and wiped her eyes swiftly and discreetly, offering Elio a smile.

After an exchange of whether Elio was okay or not, three walked out of the conference room and rode the elevator in awkward silence. Diego’s quips seemed to have left his usual pert self. They passed the lobby and pushed through the humongous glass revolving door. Elena pulled Elio to the side by saying ‘excuse us’ to Diego as the dark sedan pulled up to the curve. The Spaniard side-glanced but didn’t object and walked a couple of steps to give instruction to the driver. Elena and Elio exchanged some words before parting. Diego made out Elio saying, ‘are you sure?’ and Elena nodding as a response before she squeezed the hazel eyes’ upper arm gently. Diego kicked the bottom of his feet and folded himself into the vehicle as Elena started walking away to the other side. A few moments later, Elio got into the car and the door shut behind him.

The omega filled his potty-mouthed best friend a gist and managed to coax Diego to spill his beans; a story of how and where Elena and Diego met and what happened between them. Diego quickly wiped his eyes cursing under his breath. Elio sighed quietly under his breath.

“We are two peas in the pod, aren’t we?”

“What in the motherf-ing god forsaken world are you talking about, you (Spanish curse word)?”

“Two years ago, I was the one who walked away from our relationship.”

Diego rolled his eyes. Because he already knew almost all the ins-and-outs of their saga. That when Elio realized, not too long later he stormed out of Oliver’s room, he wasn’t ready. That he was still recovering from what had happened to him. And… when all Oliver has been doing was to help him regain what he had lost through that incident. That his alpha was seeing him as a person: a human being. Regardless of his past, his faults, his gender–. That Oliver was the only person other than Elio’s parents who made him feel loved and cared for… for just being– _him_.

“Just because she was the one to break it off with you doesn’t mean that her heart wasn’t still broken.”

“(a string of curse words), stop making me a sack of sappy–.”

“Some say “Don’t ever fall in love,  
Play the game of life wide open,  
Burn your candle at both ends,”  
But I say "No! It’s better to have loved and lost,  
Than never to have loved at all, my friend." ”

Diego turned his face away, sniffling a little, and reached for a can of soda, “Awh, hell, how many times did I say you gotta stop that quoting thing!”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Chapter title from a song with the same name by _Amber Run_  
>  –Better To Try And Fail Than Never To Try At All, by _William F. O’Brien_  
>  Some say risk nothing, try only for the sure thing,  
> Others say nothing gambled nothing gained,  
> Go all out for your dream.  
> Life can be lived either way, but for me,  
> I’d rather try and fail, than never try at all, you see.  
> -  
> Some say “Don’t ever fall in love,  
> Play the game of life wide open,  
> Burn your candle at both ends,”  
> But I say “No! It’s better to have loved and lost,  
> Than never to have loved at all, my friend.”  
> -  
> When many moons have gone by,  
> And you are alone with your dreams of yesteryear,  
> All your memories will bring you cheer.   
> You’ll be satisfied, succeed or fail, win or lose,  
> Knowing the right path you did choose.  
> .  
> As always, Thank You for reading, your time and interest.  
> Please be kind and reward yourself with continuous self-care and self-love.


	22. Cadenza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his sixth visit with Arthur, Elio recounts the past six weeks to Oliver. The chapter begins about a month in the future in Italy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**  
> .  
> This transcriber-me’s spin on chapter three of _Find Me_  
>  [ TRANSLATION ] long arse read (direct adaptation and some summarized) with not much fluff

**Chapter Twenty One. Cadenza**

**Mid-April | Crema, Italy**

Elio—his eyes puffy, his face gaunt— is walking into a local church in all black. It is a small ceremony. He never ever wanted it to happen this way. No one should die before their time, the hazel eyes mulls the thought, his eyes pinned out, jaws lax. There is no more tears to cry; he’s been crying all night. One heavy step after another, his heart thumping loud in his ears, Elio closes the distance, walking down the aisle. The omega’s lips part with a tiny gasp as his body comes to a stop, in front of an open casket. Blink, blink, blink. The rim of his eyes heat up with red rings. His nostrils flare as he looks down at the face.

How can you look so peaceful?

.

**Month and a half or so ago | London, UK**

Come Monday, Elio received a message from Diego—about them meeting up with Elena after class. The way his Spaniard friend said it in a hushed tone ‘ _at you know where_ ’ made the dark curls to pffft out loud. Because it was very unlike him. In the name of love, Elio gathered a conclusion in his head with a not too subtle smile, we all are fools. And Z went, “what are you two up to?”

“Oh, my dear sucio,” Diego slung his arm around Z’s shoulder, putting on the Queen’s English pronunciation, “tis a matter of grown-ups that a young and impressionable self such as yourself shall not be bothered with.” Z responded with a snigger and his elbow ribbing Diego on his side.

A quarter after five, two men arrived at the house. Traffic wasn’t too bad, considering. Elena informed Elio the contract was solid, while Diego mysteriously found a reason to disappear upstairs. The hazel eyes simply shrugged his shoulders when Elena quietly inquired how he managed to get Mr. Chambers to even consider offering this.

On his first Friday, escorted by Diego, Elio entered the building the same way he did last Friday. As the entrance beyond the lobby was only for Elio, Diego motioned his hand over his pocket in a ‘reach me when you’re done’ and Elio nodded. The Spaniard made sure to see the dark curls safely disappearing behind the gliding elevator door before he turned around and exited the building. The elevator whirled to a stop when the LED displayed a word ‘Penthouse’ in a rolling scroll. When the door soundlessly skated open, he was greeted by Chris who led him to the other side of the floor. In his tailored designer suit, he went over a couple of things about the contract Elio’d signed: a reminder—though the way he said felt more like a warning. The hazel eyes stayed quiet without offering any comments.

“Ahh––, young Elio, a face I expected to see,” Arthur welcomed him with an unusual jolly in his voice, “thank you, Chris. Have Maxine bring up the usual fare.”

He was standing with his hands in the pockets of his blue blazer, looking a touch gawky yet not in the slightest bit uncomfortable. It appeared almost as though he was happy to see Elio. Something was different about him unlike the last time two met. Chris dipped his head lightly before he left room.

“Come~ let us sit,” the old alpha gestured him as he walked on a couple of steps ahead, before seating himself down on the piano bench, lightly tucking up his trousers at his thigh with his hands.

The white concert grand that appeared to be custom made (more than likely one of a kind) sat in chic French-country style, found in magazines and home décor catalogues.

“He’s a thing of beauty. No one supposed to have this much ivory but––,” Mr. Chamber’s clicked his tongue, “I couldn’t help myself.”

Elio was taken aback a little. He, the dark curls mulled a thought with a tight smile. Unlike cars, most people do not personify their musical instruments, regardless of how expensive they are. And yet, Mr. Chambers just called it, He. Indeed, the exquisitely made piano had ample amount of carved ivory as the accent decoration. Is this what the top one percent get away with? The dark curls was amazed how swift his brain birthed out myriads of opinions and judgements. Something utterly contradictory about the whole thing settled unnervingly in Elio’s stomach.

Arthur waved his hand again for Elio to come and sit next to him on the long seat. The young man hesitated for a few moments before he walked up to the piano and cautiously parked his rear end. The white leather was really soft to touch. The dark curls felt like he was sitting on the most comfortable cushion. A repeating theme, Elio gathered in his head.

“I’m going to show you something I believe no one has ever seen,” the old man placed a leather envelop that look almost a century old vintage between his open palms, “It came into my father’s hands not long after I celebrated my eleventh birthday. So I was told. When I was in my very late twenties, and a few days before my father fell into a coma—he knew his time had come, and no one was stupid enough to try and tell him otherwise—he asked me, when we were alone together, to fetch this of out his wall vault behind one of his favorite paintings.”

“What’s in it?” Elio asked, looking down at the envelope.

Arthur sucks in an audible breath through his nose and handed the large leather packet to Elio, “Open it.”

The hazel eyes expected some sort of deed, will, or certificate, or something Oliver’s father uses to play one of his cunning games. Instead, the folio contained a musical score on eight double-sided sheets of onion paper. The staffs were drawn by the unsteady hand of someone who obviously didn’t own a ruler. On the front was written: _From Léon to my beloved, January 18._

“Adrien, my father, never explained, All he said was, ‘Do not destroy it, do not give it away to some archive or library, just pass it on to someone who’ll know exactly what to do with it.’ The look on his face and I knew. Of course, he knew,” the old man gaze falling somewhere into his reverie, strangely looking sad.

Elio began leafing through the score, and the more he stared at its second page the more he began to question why the staff lines were drawn in so unsteady a hand, as if someone did it in a secret, hiding it from everyone else. Also, the score had not perceptible beginning, which meant either that the score was incomplete or that it was composed at the very peak of the scrimmage of one era to another. He looked at the last page of the score, while Arthur sat there without further words, indeed to find a long trill leading absolutely nowhere. His expectation, or gut feeling(?), was right. And yet, how unoriginal, predictable, and dull was that, the young pianist thought. Part of him didn’t have the heart to tell Oliver’s father any of this. Something that his father kept it in this (probably crazy expensive) designer leather folder under a lock and key. Then, as Elio flips back through the first three pages, he became aware of something that truly made his heart sink. The dark curls blinked quickly as unassumingly as he could. Because… Léon had been copying not only Mozart but also lifted rondo from Beethoven’s _Waldstein_ Sonata. _Does Arthur know this poor man was stealing left and right?_ the hazel eyes looked at the pale sepia ink—either the ink had faded over the years or Léon was using diluted ink. It looked so desperately and hastily scribble down, that made Elio wonder whether the writer did this in a hurry, as if to send a coded message.

“And this is the ripe moment for you to ask–,” Arthur said with what looked like to Elio a goofy smile.

“…Why are you giving this to me?”

Mr. Chamber’s closed lips turned into a full closed lip smile. Elio cocked his head minutely at the old man’s reaction.

“Let’s just say, it’s for me to know and for you to figure out. You have seven weeks, young Elio.”

Something was definitely different.

“Chicken or beef?” Arthur said, almost out of the blue.

Elio looked back at the old alpha with a ‘sir?’ look. Oliver’s father simple huffed a smile.

“For lunch, chicken or beef?”

The young omega blinked, feeling puzzled a bit. And the next thing surprised Elio more.

“We might serve vegan food as well,” Arthur said mimicking typical flight attendant’s mannerism, “and we have a fabulous red to pair with.”

How did he know? Elio wondered because he was thinking exactly the same when the old man casually tossed the question just a moment ago. And that was the beginning of his investigative journey for ‘finding Léon.’

.

Spending an hour a week with Arthur, truthfully, was unnerving at first. Yet, once Elio had a chance to play that grand piano, he felt his heart being torn into two. Because it was a remarkable instrument. And Oliver’s father only requested one song each time they met. The rest was them talking over refreshments. Arthur, for some unknown reason, mostly talked about his youth and his father. The topic the young omega normally would consider too up close and personal for two strangers to talk over a quite extravagant assortments of antipasto. Not just because Elena (and Diego) warned him of Arthur Chambers’ widely accepted reputation, but also the contract that the two agreed upon. Non-disclosure from both parties, sure, it said. Yet, Elio couldn’t help but to wonder why this elite of a society would bother to tell Elio of his yester years that sure appeared to be very personal. But human mind was a fickle thing after all. By the third week, the young omega found himself anticipating what treats he’d get to taste and savor. Though the old alpha had Elio sat on the floor cushion, it wasn’t a terrible feat.

.

It was Diego who pointed out, when Elio came out of the building pushing the giant glass door, that the old alpha’s smell could trigger something in Oliver on his first visit.

“How do you know?” Elio asked in a tone not too covertly, meaning Diego doesn’t have a firsthand experience. (And well, not to mention he wasn’t aware of Oliver’s distinct gift of olfactory sense.)

To that, Diego slapped the back of Elio’s head pointedly with his usual fare of Spanish curse words.

“Ow!” Elio shot him a look of ‘what was that for?’

“If I can smell it on you, Oliver definitely will,” countered Diego, rubbing at his nose as if Arthur’s scent was burning his nose hair.

“Don’t tell me, you feel protective of me,” Elio remarked back, nudging his forearm on Diego’s torso.

So, as soon as he arrived home, Elio quickly took off everything he had on, started a load (in a bit of hurry), and jumped into a shower immediately. _Very_ unlike him. The usual Elio, who has been spoiled by house staff, is far from the tidiness Oliver innately has. But starting that Friday, he made sure the first thing he’d do once he came back was _shower_. He scrubbed himself clean, in all nooks and crannies. Even went as far as wiping down the surfaces he touched before he showered: even the front door knob.

When Oliver came home, he found Elio wearing one of his shirts. A button-down the hazel eyes has come to call _billowy_. It has become one of things that makes the alpha’s heart to swell each time. Seeing the hazel eyes in the blue eyes’ own clothes was absolutely adorable. Still two sizes too big yet picture perfect.

“Hey…,” Elio said low, folding himself into Oliver’s embrace, “I’ve missed you. How was your day?”

And the blond indeed noticed his beloved’s dark chocolate curls smelling freshly showered, the hair near his scalp still slightly damp. Wrapping his arms around the omega, sighing out contently, Oliver let out a long ‘mhmm,’ as the pure Elio’s scent filled his nose. The alpha quietly asked his mate whether he was okay. Because Elio had a habit of drenching himself under a cold shower whenever a panic attack’d ensue. The hazel eyes shook his head, burying himself deeper into the alpha’s chest. Oliver simply smiled, tucking Elio’s head under his chin, softly muttering ‘well, what do you know? a perfect fit.’ To that, the omega smiled. With the rise and fall of his chest (of which always registered as exceptionally calming and incredibly comforting for Elio), the alpha began telling Elio about his day: how his lecture went, what he had for lunch, the pranks his students were trying to pull, and so on.

“Ooo~, that’s brilliant,” Elio remarked with a soft chuckle, lifting his head a little to bury his nose on the notch at the top of Oliver’s chest.

Oliver hums, rumbling his chest, sending its vibration straight through Elio’s entire body, “don’t get the idea,” he said it like a playful warning, “I gave them extra assignments for failing to be clever _enough_.”

Elio pressed his lips on the skin at the dip. And the blond slowly ran his large palm along the hazel eyes back. So soothing. He felt right at home.

.

While leaving his omega to pick which restaurants to order take-aways from, the blue eyes did notice a load done, of course—though Elio left the finished load in the dryer. Oliver huffed quietly and reached for the basket. It was a great start of a weekend.

.

At school, Elio found himself being so wrapped up on the old score.

“What are you up to?” Z asked.

Elio pushed the old sheet music towards him without words. Z’s head tilted with curiosity first as his gaze studied the pages. And he confirmed what Elio had thought on last Friday; that it wasn’t an original work but a jumbled copies of Mozart and Beethoven. Then, he went, “wait. This is not a sonata, it’s cadenza–.” A cadenza is a brief one-to-two minute moment in a piano concerto when the soloist improvises upon a theme already explored in the concerto itself. Usually, the signal for the orchestra to come clamoring back in and close the movement is a trill played at the very end of their cadenza.

Elio reached over and separated the sheets just with the tips of his three fingers to the last page, “I couldn’t figure out what the trill was when I first saw it but now it makes perfect sense.”

“This cadenza,” Z pointed out, looking at the length of trill on the page Elio was designating, “goes on and on.” Another confirmation, the omega marked in his head, as Z carried on saying, “I’d say it’s obviously more than five to six minutes.”

Elio hummed quietly in agreement.

.

**Mid-March, Five weeks ago | Saturday (a day after Chap 20, AO3: Chap 21) | London, UK**

Oliver slowly wakes up, his hand held by Elio who is deep in his slumber. And the room is deftly filled with a subtle ascorbic tang of his skin that the blond now is intimately familiar with as ‘Elio has slept here.’ He sleeps like a toddler who covers the whole square footage of the alpha’s California king bed. Thankfully, he doesn’t kick or push. How an earth Elio is able to turn and flip up-side-down without waking Oliver up, the blue eyes doesn’t have a clue. Maybe it’s _love_ that makes Oliver to simply not care about such things. No matter what position the hazel eyes is, asleep-Elio always makes sure he is touching Oliver in some way or another, at all times. This morning, Elio’s sleep state arranged his body to be lying his feet on his pillow (one over, the other under it), his head next to Oliver’s ankle. The alpha peels his eyelids open slowly and lets out a quiet huff under his breath. Elio’s warm slender long pianist’s hand is on top of the blond’s left hand, his sleep-state light grip appears to make sure Oliver’s hand is where he want it to be: the crest of his thigh. The blue eyes gently moves the fingertips under Elio’s grip. His omega stirs quietly, moaning low, resisting to drift away from his sleep. He turns his head a little towards Oliver’s bare skin. Once the hazel eyes senses his lips touching on Oliver’s bare skin, his purses his lips and kisses Oliver’s ankle there—his eyes still closed, still asleep. His head tilts up lazily, and automatically, seeking out the alpha’s foot. The omega presses his lips again one slow kiss at a time; on the small well-formed bony mound then the top of Oliver’s foot, brushing the tip of his nose along the tendon running along to the little toe.

Unhurriedly, Oliver extends his fingers along the fabric of Elio’s sleep trunks. His fingertip is greeted with a little wet dot on his mate’s cotton sleepwear. He flattened his middle and fourth fingers, and his guess comes to be true. His omega is hard beyond measure. The blond aligns his grip before he begins to rub along. Elio arches his body up against Oliver’s legs, slowly breathing in deep, and lulls the toasty tip of his tongue on the alpha’s little toe.

.

With a little delightful pop, the toaster presents two nicely browned slices. Oliver leans down and kisses Elio on his neck before he reaches for the refrigerator door. The alpha already went for a run and showered while the dark curls managed to get up about ten minutes ago. (It’s a routine for them. Even after a good morning sex, Oliver never skips a run.) Sleep still in his eyes, Elio navigates around the kitchen effortlessly, adding two eggs into the pot.

“I didn’t know Z had a sister,” Oliver begins coolly, carrying on the conversation two had last night.

Elio tells him she is this whiz kid who is seriously good at computer. Oliver can make an educated guess on the relevance of Z’s sibling for their conversation. Yet the blond patiently waits for the hazel eyes’ recount of his past six weeks to unfold as he experienced them.

._._._.  
According to Elio, on his third Friday, he mustered up enough courage to explain to Arthur about the score he gave.

“Not a sonata but a cadenza.”

“A cadenza. Of course! I suspected it all along,” he halted a second, “and what’s a cadenza?”

Elio couldn’t help but to laughed, before he gave the old alpha a concise definition of cadenza, “and here,” he pointed his fingers, “Léon keeps echoing the _Waldstein_.”

“The _Waldstein_ ,” Arthur repeated the word with a broad smile. It took the young omega a moment and then, once again, Elio understood why he was smiling.

“Forgive me for telling you this but you have all this,” gesturing his head towards the wall-to-wall vinyl collection, the dark curls said, “and you’ve never heard the _Waldstein_ sonata.”

“I know it inside out,” Oliver’s father replied, again smiling.

“You are fibbing,” Elio countered though stopping himself from adding more. Because of the story Arthur had shared about his father taking him to concerts on Sunday. A particular one at the church. Which meant that Mr. Chambers has more than ample of knowledge and ear for classical music, even if he might not remember them all by their exact name.

“Of course I’m fibbing,” Arthur retorted back with jolly ha-ha-ha.

Elio stood up from his floor cushion, walked towards the piano. After a couple of steps, he looked over his shoulder, giving the old man an expression of ‘why aren’t you following me behind?’ Arthur clicked his tongue with an intrigue on his face and pushed himself up from his chair. The young man sat at the bench first, waiting for the old alpha to come near the concert grand. When he was about a few steps away, Elio started playing the opening bars of the _Walstein_.

“The _Walstein_ , of course,” Arthur said with ‘ahhh–’ on his face.

Elio simply blinked thinking, was he still joking? As if he could read the young omega’s mind, Oliver’s father quipped back and told him he has heard it many times. The hazel eyes stopped playing and then moved to the rondo. The look on Arthur’s face confirmed that he knew it too.

“Then sing it,” Elio said.

The old man’s eyes widen a little, still smiling, “I’ll do no such thing,” the tone of his voice almost sounded as though him being a defiant teenager. So, Elio began singing the rondo and, after a bit of coaxing by staring at the old alpha, started hearing his tentative attempts at song. The dark curls played more slowly, and then asked him to sing louder, till in the end they were singing in unison. Soon, Arthur place both hands on Elio’s shoulders, he thought it was a signal to stop, but then Oliver’s father said, “Don’t stop.” So, the omega continued playing and singing and not too long later, he saw Oliver in this old man. And he made a mental note of asking his alpha to sing to him, one day. It’d be a gorgeous picture, him with his guitar, his long legs crossed over, nonchalantly strumming the strings, with his magnificent smile. Oh, right, Elio centered himself, getting back to Léon, and took up the score.

“Let me explain to you how a cadenza works,” and he got up from the bench and riffled through Arthur’s record collection. Tons of jazz, some are not even opened, kept in their mint condition. The young omega finally landed on a Mozart concerto. Then he located a very complex and expensive-looking music system sitting on an eighteenth-century coffee table at the corner. As he fiddled to see how it worked, Elio avoided looking at Arthur so as not to give that he was about to ask any importance. But the old man knew what the hazel eyes was thinking.

“Nobody told me to buy this. I looked at it one day and I told myself that I am getting one. Okay?”

“Okay,” Elio simply replied, liking his candor.

“And I know how to work it myself. All you had to do was ask me,” the old man added, almost looking like he was going to puff his face like a five year old.

It took a few moment before they began listening to Mozart’s piano concerto. The young man let the old alpha hear a bit of the first movement then lifted the stylus and moved it forward to the part where the cadenza composed by Mozart himself would be. Both listened until Elio quietly pointed out the trill that signaled the return of the full orchestra. Arthur nodded, this time, genuinely grasping what cadenza was. Elio moved back to the keys and played Beethoven’s and then Brahms’ cadenza to Mozart’s D minor concerto.

“Luminous,” Oliver’s father said. And Elio was glad that he was playing the two perfectly, off the cuff.

“What’s interesting here is that after Léon’s cadenza quotes a few bars from the _Walstein_ Sonata, something far crazier happens.”

“Such as?” Arthur asked, sitting himself down next to Elio, looking almost overwhelmed by too many musical facts for one day. But he appeared to be relaxed and in good spirit.

“It seems to me, and I’m not sure yet, that at some point after quoting the _Walstein_ Léon dithers awhile until he slips from the Beethoven to something that very possibly inspired another piece by Beethoven, something called Kol Nidre.”

“Of course,” the old alpha was close to laughing. Seeing this kind of vulnerability on someone whom Elio believed to be conniving and cold-blooded business man was something the dark curls couldn’t get used to. Almost self-deprecating chuckles. It was truly odd and refreshing at the same time.

“Kol Nidre is a Jewish prayer,” Elio explained, on how the Jewish theme is very veiled yet it was smuggled in there, not forgetting to add his two possible theories about who Léon was: either musically trained or a Jew who reads music. And the young man played the cadenza and then Kol Nidre bit by bit for Arthur.

Of course, Oliver’s father asked what Kol Nidre was.

“It’s an Aramaic prayer at the start of Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, and represents the recantation of all vows, all oaths, all curses, all obligations made to God. My hunch is–”

“I know this tune,” the old man said suddenly.

Elio blinked first before he asked where Arthur had heard it.

“I don’t know. But I know it,” he replied, and thought for a moment, then, as though rousing himself and said, “I think we should sit down for our refreshments.”

.

With a delightful volunteer of Z’s sister, Elio immersed himself in determining who Léon was. Starting from U.S. based institutions, he searched for the names of teachers before, during, and after the possible years Léon could have been in school. The records were desultory and scattered, but in not one was there a person called Léon. Elio, Z, and Z’s sister looked for Jewish–, German–, or Slavic–sounding surnames or any with _L_ as a first initial. Nothing. Three looked for students with the name Léon. Na-dah. Z’s sister shouldered Z from his computer and angled them so the monitors are facing her. Clackity-clack of her hands moving, she widened the search. Several separate windows popped up and what appeared to coding language scrolled in a dizzyingly fast speed. She was basically searching all and every music school exist in the world.

“How are you able to do this?” Elio asked.

“Told you, mate, she’s wicked good,” Z said proudly but quickly dismissed by her scowl.

A few minutes went by, each window indicated ‘no match found.’

“There is no Léon,” Z’s sister finally said.

Three fell silence. Elio, his shoulders sagged a little.

“Either he had another name or his name was removed from the school records. Or~ he’d never been at the conservatory,” Z offered.

.

The fourth Friday came and Elio shared his progress.

“I can see why,” Arthur mused, while preparing a pot of tea for Elio. Because for some reason, Elio felt so cold once he arrived at the penthouse that day. What kind of tea did he want, he had so many, the old alpha asked without explaining what he meant.

“Any tea,” the young omega replied, “just something hot.”

On his way to the bar, Oliver’s father touch Elio’s cheek and the side of his neck. It reminded him of his mother when Elio wasn’t feeling well and she’d check to see if he had a fever. Within minutes, immediately following the light pop sound of electric kettle, Arthur was back and Elio was cupping a warm mug in both hands.

“So much better,” the hazel eyes said, almost laughing at how happy the tea made him feel.

With a soft low hum, the old alpha straightened himself up and put on some music.

“But I thought the agreement–”

Arthur wordlessly raised his open palm and Elio took a soft inhale without finishing his sentence. Is it because he is Oliver’s father? the dark curls wondered how he was able to understand him well after less than a handful of encounters.

The old man filled his lungs and sat himself down across from Elio. Not asking Elio to sit on the floor cushion he began another story about Oliver’s grandfather.  
._._._.

Oliver’s face is frozen, with his mouth open in surprise. Elio’s eyes carefully study him.

“I’m not saying what he did to you and your mom are justified. And… and… I know it’s better to have come straight from him but… I promised that I’d tell you everything so…”

The dark curls, his gaze on Oliver’s stunned face, brings up his softly clenched hand and begins to gnaw rather nervously at the tip of his thumb nail. The blue eyes lets out a soft ‘huh’ under his breath. Knowing how his old man is, Oliver arrives at a conclusion that it was on the spot decision to give Elio this leather portfolio. It was Arthur’s way of testing Elio’s worthiness, as he has shown a willingness to stand for Oliver as an omega.

“That old fucking bastard,” Oliver mutters under his breath, chuffing quietly, imagining the look on his father’s face the moment Elio played the ‘we are mated’ card in front of him. _The old man clearly underestimated you_ , the alpha thinks to himself.

“And it was all your idea?”

Elio simply nods.

Oliver huffs out a soft laugh, “Ballsy.”

“…are you… mad?”

“I can never be mad at you, you know that,” replies Oliver, thumbing at the edge of Elio’s lips to get the crumb off, “which brings me–,” and sucks in a large breath as he gets up to get the manila envelope.

Elio looks down at it then looks up at Oliver with a question mark on his face expression.

“This is how I knew you were with him.”

“huh?”

“Let’s just say, it was the final piece of the puzzle.”

And Oliver explains the things that has been nagging at the back of his head and how he arrived at the conclusion so quickly yesterday.

“I thought I was careful.”

The blond gives the omega a soft smile, tapping the tip of his nose with his index finger.

“So… what is it?”

Oliver pulls out the documents, “well, this is for you.”

Apparently, Oliver’s mother set aside something for a special someone. She probably didn’t know it was going to be Elio but she had the insight to know how to tip the scale of yet-to-take-place future event. The small stack of papers contained the details of six percent of the share of _Chambers_ ; it is conditioned to change hands once Oliver is mated. The reason why Chris (Arthur’s right hand) filed the certification on behalf of Oliver in U.S. is for this to be released to Elio.

“Hmm,” Elio thinks back, “so he _was_ testing me.”

Oliver nods his head.

“…what is this mean?”

The alpha fills his lungs, “well, it means,” he sighs through his parted mouth, “we are going to see Arthur next Friday.”

“We?”

“Yes, we."

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –please kindly don’t ask where I got the image of their morning nookie for this chapter. Living with me-brain is sometimes… a work. *long sigh*  
> –the term ‘educated guess’ is essentially an oxymoron at best but… I won’t be pedantic and get into the _‘five items or less’ is incorrect_ -type of argument. (that doesn't mean I am not hyper-keen on the sins of my typographical and grammar mistakes, oh, no, no. Oh, yes and the tense structure of this drabble isn't lost on me, either but...) [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ovi7uQbtKas) is someone who said it way better than I do.  
> –uhrmmm… since I don’t see myself as a writer so it wasn’t a writer’s block. Because in a bigger picture of things, this version of _Not Enough_ has already been done. As some of you may already aware, transcriber-me has a habit of perpetual editing forever and ever. And to make matters worse, transcriber-me unilaterally decided to check out for a while and took their sweet-arse time coming back. For that, I wholeheartedly apologize. *deep sigh*  
> –yes, mid-April marks something very important for this A/B/O AU’s pair(those with black belt in fanfic kungfu already know what that is *cheeky grin*). And the reason why Oliver decided to go with Elio on his seventh and the last visit according to Arthur-Elio’s contract will be revealed in the next chapter. Not for suspense but it just became too long.  
> .  
> As always, \Thank You/ for following my drabbles, your continued interest in this AU fic, and your time.  
> Please stay healthy: mind, body, and soul.  
> 


	23. Temporal Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of Adrien, Oliver’s grandfather. And Oliver finds out why Lewis has been watching out for him and Elio while a bit of crisis happens in the mid-April timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temporal  
> adj. of or relating to time, of or relating to earthly life  
> Convergence  
> n. the act of converging and especially moving toward union or uniformity  
> .  
> [ Heads-up ]  
> i. story within story  
> ii.The dark world of A/B/O mentioned briefly in this chapter in a form of yester-years.  
> 

**Chapter Twenty Two. Temporal Convergence**

**A few decades ago | Somewhere Northeast of U.S.**

A man almost resembles Oliver, but a bit shorter in overall stature than he, was walking into an old cathedral, his right hand pushed into his suit pants’ pocket. It was an early-Summer Sunday, not warm, but not chilly, just the basic overcast of change of season evening that started too early yet the presages of longer daylight of summer months kept the surrounding bright for the time of the day. By the looks of the garment, though it looked tailor made, one could easily tell the era by its style and the way it was cut. So it was no exaggeration that he appeared a little out of place to voluntarily be walking into a chamber music concert at a church such as this. Many audience were already seated inside the beautiful cathedral and were wearing something thicker for the season; others (only the sparing number of them) were wearing short sleeves. Adrien huffed quietly under his breath as almost everyone was wearing their best Sunday clothes. Yet, despite the humidity hanging noticeably within, there was something snug in the air, as people quietly made their way down the pews, clearly in anticipation of the music. Unlike the others in church, he walked to a small table by the entrance where one of the nuns were seated. A late comer. Because almost everyone else appeared to had gotten theirs by mail or in advance and entered the church holding large vouchers, which they’d been asked to keep unfolded while a hunched, elderly nun dutifully copied everyone’s full name with an old green fountain pen. She was at least eighty years old and must have been doing this for ages, probably with the same pen and in the same tremulous, archaic script. No one said anything about her slow pace but there were a few indulgent smiles exchanged among those who hadn’t had their vouchers validated. The way the young alpha furtively darted his eyes gave off the vibe of someone who didn’t want to be noticed. And one could easily guess that this young man did intend not buying the ticket in advance. Sure enough, the old nun who was already having a hard time recopying each patron’s full name went ‘pardon?’ when the young man said his name. Montgomery Parks, he repeated. Once her pen stroke satisfactorily put the letter s, the nun seating next to her poured a ladleful of hot cider into a cup. The young man put a dollar into her donation bowl, gave a nod as a thanks and went inside. Before you know it, he had chosen a seat in the very back, where the pillars’ shadow safely provided a rouge of privacy.

Wonderful melody of Beethoven’s C-sharp minor resonated within the high vaulted room. And the next thing that captured his eyes was this pianist. A willowy and pale with blush pink lips. Caramel wavy blond hair bouncing as his fingers moved. His eyes closed. So Adrien took out his pocket watch, gave a fleeting glance at it on his palm, and placed it back where he fished it out. And he shimmied in the seat, lifting his head as he breathed out inaudibly. Ahh, so it wasn’t the privacy that he sat at the very back. By his look and posture, he had changed his mind (about leaving without disturbing anyone) and decided to stay till the end of the concert.

.

What are you doing? Adrien chided himself in his head, waiting at what appeared to be the staff entrance. Other musicians walked out in pairs and in single carrying their instrument in its respectable containers. Adrien dropped his gaze and took out his pocket watch. And the caramel blond walked out the door by himself. An incredible mixture of ginger, cloves, and lemon with freshly mowed grass wafted up. Adrien’s head snapped up and he muttered something under his breath, shoving the watch into his vest pocket. If it wasn’t for his distinct scent, Adrien probably missed the chance. He casually jogged after the caramel blond, hiding his eagerness as best as he could.

“Excuse me,” Adrien said politely. He felt his voice was somehow caught in the middle of his throat. So he coughed twice, into his lightly clenched fist.

And the gorgeous head of the caramel blond turned around. Unassuming, with his eyebrows raised slightly, mildly curious, a pair of cheerful green eyes were searching for the owner of the voice he just heard at the back of his head.

That was the beginning of their saga — Adrien 21, Léon 18, two young hearts falling for one another. Instantly.

.

Two stayed in Adrien’s family summer house in Cape Cod. Léon huffed under his breath, sitting on the floor, between Adrien’s parted legs. The alpha was sitting on the sofa, reading; one hand holding the book, the other gently carding Léon’s hair.

“Today, I’m supposed to be examined,” Léon nuzzled his cheek on the inner side of Adrien’s right knee.

Adrien growled low. The thought of someone else laying their eyes on Léon disturbed him deep. The alpha moved his hand so his thumb could draw a line at the back of Léon’s nape. The omega moaned at the sensation—almost like a sigh of relief, his eyes rolling back, his eyelids fluttering.

“It’s amazing how you know,” Léon said in a whisper, enjoying the way Adrien’s hand making him feel. And it only affirmed that Léon had never experienced ‘gentling.’

The alpha shrugged ephemerally. What kept Adrien calm was the gorgeous sound of Léon’s purr. The young alpha cleared his throat with closed lips.

“So, you said, the guy’s name is Harold?”

Léon slowly swiveled his head, moving with the alpha’s hand, before he let out a low (rather sensuous) ‘mhmm.’ And the omega took an audible breath through his nose.

The very day two met, they sat at the corner booth of Adrien’s go-to restaurant, just talking: basically everything and anything. Completely forgotten about time and the world, two grew close as if they had known each other since they were children. After the delicious entre plate was whisked away, Léon said something in lines of, he couldn’t believe he was telling his sorry life story to a complete stranger he just met. Naturally, the subject of Léon being an unaccompanied omega came up (the one Adrien so desperately wanted to ask the moment he saw Léon’s face at the back alley), the young omega spilled the beans.

Back then, the practice of an omega being sold off with a contract was more prevalent and out in the open. Well, before 1980s, not just because the omega population wasn’t as rare but it was an accepted practice. Something the current generation might not be able to fully understand. Omegas then were creatures with human feet. Homo sapiens version of Ambrosia. They were sold and traded like goods and they were the ultimate receptacles for dominating gender’s desire. Not just for sex but being the book-keeper, nurse, the personal assistant, the nanny, granary masters, game and gate keepers, you name it.

Léon was scheduled to be bonded off a month after that very concert. He told the young alpha that the first time, he ever met Harold was when he was sitting at his old man’s dining table, with a transfer of ownership document that was signed and sealed by the county court. Adrien kept his face expression mild but he knew he’d be doing the same thing with any other omega. Because it happened every day in the world they were living. Being a Chambers, the young alpha knew he could never legitimately mate an omega as his legal marriage partner. His family wouldn’t allow it. But the thought of some alpha placing a claim on Léon was beyond intolerable. Hence, the reason for them taking shelter in this vacation home; they eloped to avoid the inevitable event from happening to Léon. Most of all, Adrien had this inexplicable urge to give the whole world to him. Not of the servitude or being a plaything for the likes of him: the alphas of the elite.

“Come away with me,” was all the young Chambers said.

All Léon said after a completely stunned look on his ethereal face without any words(of which to Adrien it felt like a hundred year) was he couldn’t believe his luck.

.

“No?” Léon asked playfully, looking up at him. The soft exposed neck looked so delectable to Adrien’s eyes. The young omega blinked his large eyes. Two exquisite green rounds firmly locked as if no one or no thing in the world mattered to him.

“Don’t tell me, you are one of _those_ kinds,” the caramel blond teased. At the young alpha’s quizzical look, Léon continued, “you know the kind who can get anyone they want without consequences. I bet you’ve had many omegas before me. You are so skilled at knowing what to say, how to touch, and all that.”

“Stop that. You know that’s not true.”

“What~? Are you gonna tell me that I’m the first omega you’ve ever slept with?”

Adrien’s gentle massaging hands paused, on Léon’s shoulders.

“…You know that it is.”

“Pfffttt––,” Léon laughed genuinely out loud at the young alpha’s seriousness, “you are three years older than I am yet you’re so gullible. I was joking with you,” added the young omega nudging his torso to the side a little against the young alpha’s leg, “I would have loved it, if it were you who were sitting at my old man’s table.”

“How so?”

“What do you think?”

“Stop teasing me and tell me. I want to hear it.”

Léon clicked his tongue and lifted himself up a little from the floor before kneeing the carpeted floor to turn around within Adrien’s parted legs. He looked up at the alpha who had a face expression of impatient little boy with the puffed cheeks. Léon shook his head minutely and placed the bottom of his chin on one of Adrien’s bent knee.

“If it were you, today you would walk into my father’s home to inspect the goods.”

The young omega was talking about the examination for the sake of the prospective future alpha owner to inspect the said omega in their contract. It was a part of age-old tradition not only to take a look at the sublime omega body (for any bite marks, scratches, and/or scars) but also a legitimate chance to touch and smell up-close to see their compatibility before the omega in a given situation became officially signed over. Of course, to verify what the head of household said was indeed true.

Adrien subdued a growl that gurgled up from deep within. Léon indeed was the unorthodox one. Because from what the young alpha was taught, Omegas are generally reserved and quiet. Or they have been conditioned to appear and behave such.

“Well…,” Oliver’s grandfather replied thoughtfully, “most omegas don’t want to be examined. So I would have brought a non-family member chaperone.”

“To keep me feel safe?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Someone was taught well, huh?” Léon tilted his head, imagining Adrien walking with another person, “a beta female, probably?”

“Probably, yeah,” the young Chambers echoed, lifting his hand up to brush the stray strands of caramel blond hair away from Léon’s face, “knowing you, you would refuse to follow the simple instruction let alone what others in our society unquestioningly follow.”

“You know me so well,” Léon mused.

“I would use your stubborn and firm refusal as an excuse to get rid of the beta.”

“Clever, shamelessly clever.”

“Why~, thank you,” Adrien did a light head-curtsy before he traces his fingertips over Léon’s forehead slowly, “once we are alone, I’d ask you for a cup of tea. And I’d watch you disappear to the kitchen and wait patiently at the dining table. You’d come back with a tray of good china your father probably loaned out from the town’s dowry supply shop. I’d see your hands trembling as you place the tray on the table. Yet, you don’t pour the tea for me. And I don’t either.”

Léon leaned into Adrien’s touch, breathing so contently, with a soft smile, “and then?”

“Then, we’d talk and I’d be my best endearing self as possible.”

“Endearing?”

“Yes, endearing,” Adrien repeated softly.

“What? you are going to talk me into letting you examine me?”

“Essentially, I’d first tell you about myself. That my passion, and my dream, has always been on becoming a musician. But I was thwarted by my father to go to college far left from music. You’d tell me you also play. And unlike me, you’d confess to me, that unless you’d get a scholarship, you cannot go to any conservatory. From that moment, we’d share our love and the view of music.”

It was quite an imagination but Léon could surely see that happening in real life.

~.~.~

_They’d talk as two did a couple of days ago until the pot of tea became less than lukewarm. Léon would blush and say he’d get a fresh one before he rather hurriedly get up. Adrien would reach out and gently take hold of Léon’ hand so he wouldn’t walk away. The young alpha would give a little pull and Léon would get the message. The young omega would close the distance in a slow step after another until he’d stand in front of Adrien._

_“Hi,” Adrien would say._

_“Hello, Mister Chambers,” Léon would answer in a same way. But Adrien would ask him to call him by his first name: Adrien. So, the young omega would go,_

_“…hi, Adrien,” a little sheepishly._

_Adrien would show him a closed lip smile before extending his other hand for Léon’s free hand by his side._

_“… is this… okay?” the young alpha would ask._

_And Léon’d simply nod._

~.~.~

Léon pushed himself up on his knees and Adrien’s lips brushed against the omega’s forehead.

“Sneaky, I’d say,” Léon said with a lopsided smile.

“Oh~, I don’t think so. Improvisation I’ll admit but, never sneaky.”

Léon let out a low amused hum, “so you are holding my hands,” his brow tipping up, “what happens next?”

“Then, I’d whisper, ‘ _Take your clothes off_ ’,” the way he said was commanding but not forceful.

“I thought you were being endearing,” Léon quipped back, “that’s not you asking me nicely.”

Adrien smiled then leaned his back against the sofa in a mixture of ‘try me’ and ‘I’m waiting.’ He’s not going to change his mind, is he? Léon thought. So the young omega did a rebellious eye-roll while muttering ‘alphas’ under his breath. He undid the rest of the buttons of his open collared shirt. As if drawn by a magnet, Adrien reached out his hand and cupped the side of Léon’s bare neck. The caramel blond leaned against the touch.

“…see?” the young alpha said quietly, “it’s not so difficult to listen. You are doing so well. Keep your eyes on me. That’s it. So obedient, so good.”

Sure, two hadn’t been together long but Léon knew exactly how Adrien liked it. The young omega undressed slowly, keeping his gaze on the young alpha, and slid the open shirt down over his shoulders bearing his pale smooth skin for Adrien to see. This carried on for some time, as if choreographed in precise beat and motion. The young alpha relished each piece of garment peeling off from Léon’s body, until the caramel blond was completely naked.

“… you’re trembling,” Adrien rapt with a whisper, feeling the surge of arousal with him.

Léon looked a bit reedy for Adrien’s liking but he basked in the ‘almost perfect’ state of the young omega’s body. As if he was staring at one of the Greek white stone sculpture,—elongated and loose-limbed—everything about the omega was extremely sensual to Adrien. The young alpha simply swallowed, reaching out his open palm. An wordless invitation for Léon to come closer. So, the caramel blond did the same and took hold of Adrien’s hand: a gesture that was so gentle and kind. The young Chambers’ thumbs found their way on the delicate hollow of Léon’s narrow hip bones. Two lost count on how many times they made love since they arrived here. But Adrien was always tender with him. A subdued moan billowed out from Léon as Adrien’s warm hand began reaching up along the outer contour of young omega’s torso. The caramel blond’s nipples hardened at the touch and he shivered lightly.

“Are you cold?” Adrien inquired quietly, his eyes searching over Léon’s face.

The young omega shook his head, mildly. All the resistance fallen away, he felt his body filling with anticipation. The young Chambers’ hand mapped the line of Léon’s clavicle until they reached the shoulder caps. Adrien’s chest expanded slowly as he brushed his palm down on the side of the young omega’s upper arms, all the way down to his long slender pianist fingers. With a small smile, Léon circled his hands under Adrien’s palms and softly held them.

The young alpha sighed happily through his nose and leaned forward. His lips landed the caramel blond’s belly button. Adrien began peppering long lingering kisses on the young omega’s skin until his lips reached the jut of his hipbone.

“… if this is how you would have inspected me,” Léon said with quivering voice, “I’d probably let you take me right then and there.”

“Would you?” Adrien mumbled the words into his skin.

Because, by now, Léon understood how different Adrien was. That he was prepared to wait. Incredible patience beyond a lesser gender could ever imagine a young alpha such as he could. The young Chambers had already shown him that he was in for fulfilling Léon’s desire, not just of his own. He was seeing him as his equal. Adrien let go of Léon’s hands and cupped his small round buttocks into his palms, giving slow and possessive squeeze.

“Ooo~, someone’s happy,” Adrien tossed those words in jest, running the tips of his parted lips along the semi-hard erection of the omega, “hi, ready to play?”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Léon bucked his hips a little, “you are not having a conversation with my penis.”

“Why~? he is happy to see me,” Adrien retorted playfully.

“Alphas,” Léon grumbled with a wide smile, “you can’t help yourself, can you?”

Adrien lulled his hot wet tongue over the tip of Léon’s now almost fully erect shaft before he said, “be a good lad and turn around for me,” gently taking hold of the young omega’s waist again. So he obliged.

“Mhmmm, good boy. Now bend over slow from your hips,” the young Chambers added, not forgetting to praise Léon of his acquiescence, “how did I get so lucky? You are absolutely perfect.”

Omegas (generally) have a soft spot for praises (compliment of any kind) and gifts. Yet, the way Adrien showered Léon wasn’t at all from means to an end. The caramel blond could feel the young alpha really meant them. As a part of reciprocation, Léon shifted on his feet, making his hips sway gently, for the spectator’s pleasure. A low rumble of urge vibrated deep in Adrien’s chest.

“Gosh, I wish I had kept up with my painting lessons,” he pressed his lips just above the moistening rim of the young omega, breathing the scent into his nostrils, “so I could savor this moment.”

“Oh, God… you are not drawing me.”

“If I promise I’d keep it for myself,” added the young alpha, gently spreading the mounds with his thumbs, nuzzling his cheek lithely on Léon’s left butt, “would you let me?” and with the flat of his hot wet tongue, the alpha licked the moist hole ever so slowly.

Léon’s belly sucked in at the sensation, his body ticked in a tiny lurch, “oh, fuck, yess–.”

“…is that a ‘yes’?”

The young omega moaned out a pitch, curling in his toes on the carpet, “you already know I’d let you.”

“Perfect,” Adrien breathed the word and he brought up his thumb as he continued licking Léon there.

How he knew to pleasure Léon this intimately, the omega could not guess. But the way the young Chambers cared while sating his fill of omega slick was out of this world. When the thickness of the digit entered his inviting hole, Léon arched his spine, pushing towards Adrien’s face. It was something he never imagined his body would do. Wanting and drawn to more contact.

“Adrien… baby…I want–”

“Hush, my boy, I want you completely opened up and ready. Shaking and trembling,” Adrien said low, pulling out his thumb and replacing it with his third and ring finger.

Léon whimpered, biting down his lips, completely immersed in the pleasure. The young alpha pumped his hand, rotating his wrist clock and counter clock-wise in exquisite rhythm, and continued his praise. How beautiful and how good Léon was.

“So magnificent,” Adrien repeated, his palm now drizzled with Léon’s warm heady slick, “now, tell me what you want, my love.”

The young omega swallowed, his mouth feeling dry, “let me ride you,” he was surprised he was able to speak coherently. Because his head turned white the moment two fingers were pleasuring his rim, in a cadence that made his thighs to quiver. Léon’s eyes rolled under his eyelids. And he sucked in a sharp breath, “like our first night,” and he whined involuntarily before he continued, “have me over your lap and grip me tight by my hips until your knot swells full.”

The young chambers face colored with all teeth smile, “excellent,” he remarked before pulling out his fingers a beat too quickly, making Léon whimper with a pout. Then, he quickly undressed his bottom and swiveled the caramel blond. And just as impatiently, Léon came up to the sofa and straddled him. There was no need for any prep: Adrien was leaking.

.

**Seventh Friday | London, UK**

Oliver is sitting at a right angle from his old man, Elio on his other side. On the table there is a printed copy of an old newpaper article dated way back when about an unregistered omega found in the alley with a broken violin. Though it was printed in enlarged scale, one can easily tell that this sad news was nowhere near in the pages most people would pay attention. Arthur’s eyes fleetingly drop over it but he lifts them away without any blink.

“Nothing changes,” Oliver begins after what seemed like an overly drawn out silence, “This doesn’t mean we get to act like we are family.”

The old alpha simply hums, nursing on his 20 year-old scotch. The blond sets his jaws before he says,

“When did you know about this?” Because the less he has to talk to him the better has been Oliver’s motto with his old man.

Mister Chambers quirks his lips with an indistinguishable smile, “Which one? the six percent? Or my birth mother was an omega and that I am a bastard son?”

The bluntness of that statement hits Elio hard. How effortless the words rolled out of Oliver’s father. Sure, he is older and has been known to be a ruthless business man of this age but…

As Elio had told Oliver last weekend, that it took Arthur twenty years to track down who Léon was. He had to rely on his distant memory of why Oliver’s grandfather Adrien insisted on taking young Arthur to a dingy little concert at a local church every Sunday. That he distinctly remember the look on the pianist's face whenever he’d glanced at their direction. That it took him a long time after losing Oliver’s mother in a plane crash to connect the dots of his earliest childhood memory, of knowing Léon. Yet, he never had the guts to ask his old man directly about _him_. Why Léon had to leave when Arthur was just a little baby and why Léon wasn’t allowed to get to know him. Because ones that Arthur long believed as his active imagination or non-plausible reality he conjured came to be true; that Léon teaching him how to play piano, reading children’s books for him, sleeping in his embrace. Those special occasions always matched with his birthdays. Back then, in young boy’s mind, he didn’t know why he was so drawn to Léon and he thought it was because he liked music, especially the classical music. That this Jewish pianist was a type of help his old man granted as a gift each year. Yet, those yearly meetings stopped after his eleventh birthday.

Chris (his right hand man) in his early twenties played a crucial role of tracking down any and all help Oliver’s father and his family had. (It was the key to Chris’s ascension to Arthur’s right hands man.)

“I am sure you now understand that when an omega is mated with a bite mark, they cannot be with anyone else. I was devastated when I found out Léon was beaten to death a couple of days after my eleventh birthday. Because he owned an Amati violin and refused to part with it. For being a Jewish pianist on top of being an omega,” Oliver’s father face twitches with the still lingering ire, “I was irate and furious, though it fundamentally fueled my rise to the power,” and lets out a cynical laugh to himself, “knocking down all my _legitimate_ siblings.”

“And how is it relevant, you toying with Elio as you did?”

Oliver did understand the meaning (and the core reason) behind what his old man did. But the way he went about it, knowing Elio was not only legally bonded but also carried a bit mark, still doesn’t bode well with the blond.

“I had to be sure,” Arthur says it like it was one of his games, “That my own son wasn’t stupid like he was with this Henry guy.”

Oliver’s chin tips up, his face going still.

“Oh, come now, your brilliant Elena isn’t the only one who has been keeping tabs on you all these years.”

Of course, Oliver tempers a seething sigh through his nose. With all the resources available to his old man, it’d be stupid of him to even think that Arthur hasn’t been keeping track of Oliver.

The old alpha tosses out a rare self-deprecating short laugh, almost like a snort, “Chris surely will insist on contract modification–” and trails off, without finishing.

He means that Oliver being here, Arthur has enough reason to modify the contract that Elio and Arthur signed seven weeks ago. Though not a practicing lawyer, MBA he got on the side wasn’t lost on Oliver. General rules of contract, the blond glides his lower jaw with his mouth closed. Elio’s head turns to Oliver, kneading his eyebrows closer together. The blond reaches his hand over and cups Elio’s knee to assure him. The blue eyes takes a slow inhale before he says low,

“What do you want?”

“Ah––, a music to my ears. The expensive training is still in you, my son,” the old alpha breathes audibly through his nose. Then, he doesn’t speak any further. With his forearms on the face of table, two Chambers are staring each other down. Elio darts his eyes at the tension. Once the old alpha is satisfied, he interlaces his own fingers together.

“I’ve always wanted what I’ve always wanted.”

Oliver clicks his tongue tartly. Arthur is clearly enjoying this. Him flexing his muscles that he is still in charge.

“Oh, yes, I am aware that you won’t be actively participating in any of the company business.”

“So, me being out in the world was what you wanted.”

The old man half-hearted shrugs his shoulder with ‘meh’ on his face as if it wasn’t his top priority, “I was trying to get rid of your competition.”

“Not for my sake,” the blond retorts back without missing a beat.

A stalking horse to expand the corporation appearing to go through merger-related struggle for a while to set the stage to regain the monopoly of the company using not just Oliver’s share but also his mate’s stock. It was a carefully orchestrated game Arthur (and Chris) played to get what he wanted.

“Your grandfather reigned until he was in his 80s. And I don’t think that tradition will change any time soon.”

“Great!” Oliver remarks sarcastically, “just know that we are not signing anything over. I’m sure you already have people who are more interested, than either of us to continue on your legacy than the namesake alone.”

“Rightly so. Although I’d love to see Elio running a division of my empire,” the old alpha glances up meaningfully at Elio’s direction, “but alas–, I may need more time to circulate out some folks I placed for _that_ to happen. But who knows?” and he does this ha, ha, ha when neither Oliver nor Elio is laughing with him. Then, he inhales deeply before he says, “should I be expecting communication from Elena?”

“If that’s how you want, I don’t see any reason to object,” Oliver replied in a flat tone. Meaning, Oliver will have this in writing. However Elena and her team make it less public until the ripe time, it is not of concern to either men.

“Alright then.”

The blond gives a tight smile. And two guests get up. As expectedly, Mr. Chambers walks around the table and, “it was a pleasure, young Elio. I’ll be watching.”

Just as unexpectedly, Elio steps in close and gives Arthur a good-bye hug.

“Oof,” the old alpha grunts, wide eyed. Yet he cannot help but to smile.

“Thank you,” the hazel eyes whispers, “and for what it’s worth, Léon loved you very much and you are the proof of his love.”

Arthur blinks rapidly without saying any words.

.

On the way down to the parking garage, Oliver grumbles about him burning the clothes Elio is currently wearing. And the dark curls simply smiles and presses his lips on the blue eyes’ cheek.

.

**Mid-April | Crema, Italy**

The news of Vimini’s passing comes as a shock, after two going through some Hollywood crime/psychothriller movie-ask life for the past several months. Two thought they were finally getting used to being in public eye and gaining some semblance. The phone call from Professor Perlman shatters Elio to his core. And since that day, everything has been on stark pause.

The funeral service at a local church goes well. And the Perlmans opens their summer home to honor Vimini’s untimely passing. The neighbors and people from B come to pay the respect to the beautiful young soul who’s gone too soon. Though Oliver and Elio haven’t had a chance to talk to the Perlmans of how things have been; of their life in UK as Samuel and Annella have been on the receiving end of crazy media frenzy. Their wonderful son, now mated and bonded, is aware that he needs to update them of his new life with Oliver but he hasn’t had the strength. Seeing Vimini in her casket is really difficult. It feels as though Elio lost a huge part of him. He doesn’t want to believe it. In truth, Elio hopes that it’s Vimini being clever and she’d be waiting for him by the ocean once he arrives at the villa. “You never call, you never write. Life isn’t that busy, Elio, I thought you love me!” she would say kicking him on his shins, Elio mulles the thought the whole plane ride.

Everything is the same. The villa, the orchard, Mafalda, Anchise, Menfredi, the corner shop he used to go get gelato, the flower shop Annella buys her flowers from. Only thing changed is Vimini being gone.

The dark curls feels suffocated being surround by the people he has known. Without telling anyone, Elio disappears from the living room soundlessly. Oliver tempers a small sigh yet doesn’t stop his mate and, without being prompted or asked, he takes on the job of two.

“You are indeed a boy scout,” a familiar voice rings from the blond’s five o’clock.

“Lewis!” Oliver cannot help but to smile at an acquainted face, “how…?”

Lewis simply tosses his head at the rain pattering on the window pane. And the alpha lets out an inaudible ‘ahh.’ As glad as he is, Oliver doesn’t know what to talk about or where to begin. Assuming how much Lewis knows has proven to be a difficult thing to do, more than twice.

“No~,” Lewis chuckles, “I haven’t flown in years. I honestly don’t remember the last time,” and he adds, “no, you assumed correctly. I can’t tell you.”

Oliver huffs under his breath and offers whether Lewis would like some refreshments, “Mafalda makes….”

“Thank you,” Lewis dips his head but raises his hand and gestures ‘no’ at just above his waist, “I see that many things have happened since we last talked.”

Oliver nods. And Lewis reaches his hand out and leads the blue eyes to a direction where they can talk in private.

“How much do you know?” the alpha asks low.

To that, Lewis gently raises his index finger as he closes his eyes. His eyelids flutter lightly. Just as quickly, he hums out a syllable of acknowledgement.

“It must have been a surprise,” Lewis offers.

Oliver raises his eyebrows and tilts his head in ‘yeah, tell me about it’ with a short exhale through this nose.

“I bet Arthur didn’t see it coming.”

The blond knits his eyebrows in a quizzical expression. And Lewis smiles with his closed lips.

“In some respect, we both know Elio is more emotionally resilient though he often appears to wear his heart on his sleeves. Yet, he has a higher capacity to accept and see through myriads of human emotions. That’s mostly why Elio is a great pianist. I think that’s what your father didn’t see coming. No matter how elaborate his plan has been. Whether it was the nudge from the bureau or from Arthur’s own volition.”

“Even with the help of his friends, I wouldn’t have been able to make connections that far,” Oliver means that the way Elio thought to search for omega musicians of that era, which meant to include unregistered omega list—since the probability of those who’d fall under that category has been very slim. Because of how society and culture of two generations have dictated, it was near impossible for a male omega to live out their life without being owned by an alpha.

“Ahh––, think of it as Elio trying to understand what it’s like to be in a rut. There are somethings only those who have insider knowledge can possibly understand.”

Oliver huffs under his breath with slow nods.

“I must admit though that was some wide net Elio and his friends casted.”

Oliver can only agree.

“Mmm–, I think if I’d ever get a chance to speak to Elio, he would say, that his _niggle_ somehow led him to do it.”

Again, the blue eyes is feeling the same. Yet, he turns his head with a rather playful smile and asks, “are you sure you don’t read minds?”

That’s the first time Oliver sees Lewis laugh out loud. Strangely, no one in the room react to his jolly laughs.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here, remember?” adds Lewis with a brightest smile on his face, “which brings me–.”

The alpha tilts his head lightly with ‘oh?’ expression. And he hears something that he’d never imagine he could.

.

“But… but…,” Oliver stammers, “the news article Elio found was about unregistered omega found dead with no name to confirm whether it was Léon.”

“Ariel. Ariel Waldstein.”

And a light bulb turns on in Oliver’s head. In Hebrew _Ariel_ means ‘lion of God’: in short, Léon. And why the cadenza was mainly based on Beethoven’s Waldstein sonata.

“So, you’ve been watching over for us.”

Lewis leans to the side and pulls out his old leather wallet from his back pocket. With a meaningful breath, he grabs the edge of an old photograph before offering it to Oliver. The faded and edge worn small picture that looks almost a century old, Oliver recognizes his grandfather Adrien in his mid-twenties, young Lewis in his late teens or early twenties, and a little boy with a pair of storm blue eyes. The blond’s jaw drops, his eyes widen. Even as a little boy, he immediately can identify his own father. Literally, Arthur only got bigger and nothing has changed; the little baby boy in the picture (stoic and stern face) had the same face Oliver has seen all his life.

“It was the memory of this body,” Lewis adds rather forlornly, as if it was something that puzzled him for a very long time to get a grasp on, “I don’t remember exactly when but, I knew it was not from me,” Lewis explains on, “oh, not to worry, I also don’t remember this body’s death, either.” Meaning, Lewis too is aware of how Ariel left this plane of existence.

Oliver simply takes all the information in. The leaps he has to make because it’s Lewis’s bureau rules that he cannot tell the blue eyes directly (exactly and plainly) what. And from proximity, Lewis knows exactly what the alpha is thinking. After an ample of silence,

“Let me guess, Lewis and Clark.”

Lewis smiles softly, “indeed, professor.”

“An ultimate traveler and explorer of early US,” Oliver mutters under his breath. Because no matter what types of American history books one reads, finding two gentlemen’s names isn’t that hard, “but why Lewis, though?” asks Oliver, his cogs turning about the etymology of the name Lewis.

“I wasn’t about to be called _Clarky_ ,” Lewis answers in a ‘it’s just that simple.’

Two hoot out genuine belly laughs. Though Lewis is surprised how Oliver is able to make the inference without much explanation, he doesn’t show it. Well, being an Ancient Historian who is keen on overall history and an American who grew up under the quintessential American education system (whether be it in an exquisitely private one) do provide some easier logical jump. Besides, the blond is, in technical sense, the grandson of the body Lewis’s consciousness has been residing as long as he can remember.

“Wow–,” the alpha breathes, “it’s uh…,” he trails off.

“I know,” Lewis gently pats Oliver’s shoulder.

For some reason, two men share a moment that cannot be fully described in words. And the blue eyes casts aside any analytical thoughts about how surreal this is to meet your birth grandmother in his prime. Bright emerald green eyes and the luscious caramel blond hair. Lewis takes in a long deep breath through his nose, squaring his jaw, “tsk, the rain is going to stop.”

Oliver purses his lips in disappointment and Lewis offers a warm smile before he says, “loss of someone close hits him harder than the most. The insufferable and intolerable nature of it all.”

He is talking in codes again, the alpha mulls the thought while understanding who Lewis means by _him._

“……” Oliver frowns first, “…what are you saying?”

Lewis frowns a little with a closed lipped small smile, “You already know I can’t tell you,” and darts his eyes around his surroundings in keen surveilling vigilance.

Oliver quickly understands what Lewis means; that Lewis doesn’t know since it is above his pay grade since he decided to stay in the field on top of him cannot disclose any future events to Oliver. The alpha’s throat waves with a mixture of urgency and nervousness. Lewis gets up, somehow pulling out a fedora hat under his arm.

“It always seems like I’m bringing the bad news. But… Thompson is not done.”

Quickly, the blue eyes’ head snaps up, with his back erect straight, to search for Elio. And Lewis gives two swift nods as a confirmation before lifting his chin a little as if to tell him to ‘go ahead.’

Oliver’s heart starts to thump louder. _Shit, where is my manner!_ When he turns around, Lewis is already gone.

.

Just like the way the alpha remembered, his mate is sitting on the tile floor, in a very tight and confined space beside the living room: the Perlman bar. His gorgeous omega in all black, this time, he is hunched forward with his unruly curls falling over his eyes casting dark shadow.

The blue eyes tempers a sigh before he walks in. And not even a grunt peeps out of him as he folds himself into a tight space. Two are sitting close, close enough for Elio to lean his head on Oliver’ right shoulder. Yet, the alpha doesn’t say or do anything but simply occupy the same space with the hazel eyes. It’s Elio’s turn to set his jaw, his Adam’s apple waves vertically once: he is swallowing his tears. Oliver’s head tilts with a deep concern on his face. And he takes in a measure breath.

Elio feels Oliver’s kind hand gently taking hold of his ankle. A sense of assurance passes through him and the omega screws his eyes shut. His nostrils flares quickly followed by his lips peeling apart.

“Shhhhhh,” Oliver opens his right arm and brings Elio into his embrace.

 _I have you, baby. I have you,_ the blond says those words in his head.

That’s when Elio bursts into soundless sob. He thought he cried everything out for the past two days. The omega buries his face on Oliver’s right chest, his shoulders trembling, his hand reaching for Oliver’s shirt. And the blue eyes carefully and gently runs his palm on Elio’s back without words. Oliver presses his lips against Elio’s head, quickly wiping a tear from his eyes with his left hand. Two hold each other and stay root in that position until Elio’s silent tears pass over him and his breath calm. Oliver takes this slow change as his mate being too exhausted, as the rate of his breath resembles that of Elio being in his sleep: even and steady. That’s when he smells the copper in the air.

Fresh blood, Oliver’s head snaps up with urgency. To the alpha’s dismay, the tile under Elio is tinted with bright red blood.

“Elio?” Oliver gently tries to wake him. That’s the moment he realizes that Elio didn’t fall asleep but lost his consciousness.

_Damn it!_

And all of a sudden, the ominous voice of Thompson echoes in his head.

\ “When you look back at all this, Oliver, just remember, we tried to reason with you.” \

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, \Thank you/ for reading, your time and interest.   
>  I hope you remember that if not for anyone else, for this meager moi, please continue your journey of self-care and self-respect in the time of what-appears-to-be-never-ending chaos and unrest. *hand on my left chest* *prayer hands*   
> 


	24. Epilogue. You, me, and us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A full circle clap-back to the very beginning of this AU. Elio wakes up at the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**

**Epilogue. You, me, and us**

Elio wakes abruptly with a sharp gasp, as if his body is desperately reaching out for life, trying to save himself from a terrible nightmare. First thing that comes to him is the low whirring noise of the blood pressure cuff cycling. No—, please no—

.

Oliver threads his arms under Elio’s unconscious limp body with urgency. One behind the hazel eyes’ rolled in shoulders, the other beneath the back of his bent knees. Come on, think! The alpha urges inside his head.

Because the first thing he did, once his nose caught the scent of fresh blood and witnessed it on the tile floor, was taking out his mobile and tried calling. The saccharine tone of AI voice disinterestedly echoed that the call could not be connected. The blond set his jaws. That fucking–, but he stopped himself. With his jaw muscles bulging, Oliver’s eyes darted quickly as he turned his cogs and gathered, the same will happen with the landline or any attempt from me to call with any devices. So forget about try doing it on my own. Think! Something unanticipated! Something unscripted!

Getting up on his feet inside the cramped square footage of the Perlmans’ wet bar with Elio in his embrace is a little trickier than Oliver has originally thought. But he manages to swivel and wiggle out of there, being careful not to bump Elio in any corners. As expectedly, the moment his eyes catch someone to ask for help, they somehow seem to get entwined with a reason to walk away from Oliver. First, it is Menfredi: for a moment, he appears to be on his way in from the corridor at Oliver’s three o’clock yet someone from outside calls the old man’s name out loud. Then, Mafalda is next. She seems to be walking out from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron when Oliver turns the corner to find her at that moment to call out her name is the very instant she too is called by someone to get the empty tableware and trays.

Shit, shit, shit. The alpha breathes out the seething exhale through his nose, his chest bellowing faster as if he just finished running. He gnaws at the inside of his mouth as he thinks in his head. He briefly ponders whether to get into a car and drive Elio to the nearest hospital. One caveat: he’s gotta find the key. And Thompson won’t let him find the damn key. Then, he quickly changes his next stream of thought; maybe I should grab the electric trike Menfredi uses for his local shopping. No, no, no, too obvious. Come one! Think! Be unpredictable, something a single person cannot poss– And the alpha’s eyes narrow meaningfully, his closed lips tighten, right before he breaks out into a declarative walk towards the other direction, where a whole roomful of people are gathered. That’s when Thompson appears right next to Oliver. Oliver side-glances him with disdain on his face (oh, you again). If he is showing himself, with his maroon scarf around his neck, I must be doing something right. Something he did not foresee.

“What are you trying to do?” Thompson asks aberrantly calm and collected, with his hands on the small of his back.

 _Lewis was right: the proximity_ , the blue eyes thinks to himself, securing his grip of Elio, _Quiet your mind, Oliver_. And the blond straight-out ignores Thompson and bellows to the crowd in the room, “excuse me!”

“Interesting move, professor,” Thompson muses, “what happened to a guy who is so set on keeping his personal business _personal_?”

Oliver doesn’t answer him, or even look at his direction, “Excuse me! Hello, hi. My mate needs help. Is there a doctor or a nurse here?”

Sure enough, there is no sign of Samuel or Annella in the room. It’s all Thompson’s doing, Oliver confirms his own supposition in his head. As the blue eyes didn’t know everyone invited to Vimini’s memorial service after her funeral at the church, he is surprised to find a gentleman who walks towards him in swift steps, identifying himself as Vimini’s doctor. Meaning, a pediatrician specialized in children’s cancer. A relief of sigh escapes from the alpha automatically and he explains to the doctor of Elio’s condition.

“Please lay him here,” the doctor tells Oliver, grabbing one of the cushion from the couch. He fishes out his cell phone but for some reason his phone is dead. He remarks with a baffled look; it is strange that he had more than 70 percent battery and just had it on, right before he walked close to Oliver.

“Anyway, I just did a rotation in NICU,” the doctors adds with a composed and assuring voice, and he turns around and projects, “can someone call the ambulance?” to the roomful of people.

Thompson who has been observing, clicks his tongue. Because even the notorious _the Hammer_ himself cannot stop or alter every single one in this room. But he does manages to knock out several more mobile devices with a single swipe of his hand. So blasé, so a-piece-of-cake expression on his face. Of course, Oliver is the only one who sees a hint on Thompson face appearing a bit flustered.

Vimini’s school friend with a white lace bow walks towards them in rushed steps, parting through towering adults twice her size and offers her phone to the doctor. The doctor thanks the little girl and speaks to the operator in acronyms and numbers.

“Yes, I have his alpha next to me,” the doctor adds, “what? how long?” with a frown on his face, he looks up at Oliver, “fine, I’ll see what I can do,” and hands the little girl’s unicorn stickered phone to Oliver.

When his hand takes hold of the phone, the call fails. The blue eyes’ head snaps up at the direction to where Thompson is standing. And he scowls with a growl. That’s when Mafalda, Annella, and Samuel walk in to the room. The doctor rapid-fires the list of supplies. Mafalda answers with a short nod each time she says, ‘si’ on the things that she has in her stock. Annella kneels down next to Elio with the deep frown on her face.

“The ambulance will be here but they said it will be longer than 15 minutes,” the doctor tells Oliver. And the blond senses that it is a code for something longer than 15 minutes. Gratefully, the doctor appears to understand the urgency and doesn’t waste time dwelling on why the call failed once he handed Vimini’s friend’s phone to Oliver. The doctor takes out his keys from his pocket and tells Oliver to get his kit, describing what it looks like. The alpha nods and pushes himself up. Samuel kneels down at his place, holding Elio’s hand with his.

Thompson walks next to him as Oliver jogs to the doctor’s car.

“You already know it’s inevitable.”

The alpha shots a pointed side-glance in a fleeting manner, “No one, I mean _no one_ can take two souls away.”

“Do you really believe that?” Thompson asks with a diverted tone. He sounds as if the very notion is entertaining him, “according to whom?”

“Me! Elio already lost Vimini and you are not taking our unborn child from him, either!” Oliver says firmly.

“Ah––, so you knew?” Thompson muses. Yet Oliver doesn’t answer him.

“The prim and proper Oliver knew his mate’s condition and still went through with it. How noble.”

The alpha knows what Thompson is doing: trying to distract him. Yes, he knew Elio’s heat was particularly different by the added note of coffee liquor. Yes, he should have gotten a neutral shot since the whole thing of media, his old man’s _plan_ to out Oliver for the sake of Arthur’s own agenda. Once the blond reaches the car, the key fob doesn’t work. Oliver presses on every button on the key. No use. That’s when he catches himself shaking. Thompson chortles, his face plastered with a smug all knowing smile. The blue eyes fingerthroughs the various keys. Nothing appears to be the one for the car. Wait, Oliver pauses, and he brings the fob a little closer and finds a little cut-out line. So he pushes his thumb nail and the end pushes out. Oliver dumps his chest: it’s the backup key hidden within the fob. So, he quickly tries to push the key into the key knob of driver’s side door. Of fucking course, the blond curses under his breath. Because no matter which way he turns the slotted key, it doesn’t unlock the car.

“What~? Are you gonna break the glass?” Thompson taunts, spectating next to him.

The blue eyes pauses at Thompson’s wry statement, his eyebrows tipping upwards. And abruptly, he spots a good sized rock on the side, pulls out the key, bends over and takes hold of it, and knocks the backseat window with it. The window shatters and a piece of broken glass ricochets towards Oliver’s face, right under his cheek bone. He flinches away briefly. The car alarm blares deafeningly. But it doesn’t stop Oliver. Thompson scrunches his face. As he reaches in and pulls out the doctor’s go-bag, his forearm gets slashed a little, here and there, in a in a few other places, as well. With a short sigh, shaking his head, Thompson waves his hand in the mid-air, rather dismissively, and the earsplitting car theft sound ceases. The alpha runs back to the villa. When he arrives, the doctor is at the tail end of mixing distilled water, sugar, and salt. It appears Mafalda also brought out towels and blankets.

“I owe you an apology, the key didn’t work,” Oliver says to the doctor, panting a little.

“Make sure you leave your business card with me, professor,” the doctor answers with a jolly smile as he swiftly opens his bag to fish out IV lines and the needle, “and expect to get the bill from my assistant.”

Sure enough, the doctor has trouble finding Elio’s veins, even though the omega’s pale skin shows his green and blue blood vessels visibly under his skin. On his fifth try, and on Elio’s other arm, the needle goes in and the doctor sighs. As the doctor records the temperature and the blood pressure with his kit, he asks people in the room to get in touch with his hospital in M. Everyone in the room thinks it’s very, really seriously, odd that their phones are not working. But all of them keeps trying.

Thompson takes out his phone; it looks like early 2000s black flip phone.

“Get me the intervention team. I need two squads for a complete reset. Yes, the entire room.”

.

**Inside the Bureau | Unknown Location**

Lewis is walking down the corridor as if he just came in from the rain. He brushes the rain off of his immaculate suit with the back of his hand, after tucking his fedora hat under his right arm. He straightens his caramel blond hair back in their place with slow wide swipe of his palm: from this forehead to the back of his head.

A woman with thick square brown frame glasses in a mustard color cardigan wearing dark green pumps approaches him from the south west corridor.

“Good day, Lewis, I am to give you this,” says the woman and hands Lewis a bright red manila envelope.

Lewis blinks once before taking it from her. He glances at her to see if she is going to tell him what it’s about. Yet, she just stands there with a mild expression on her face. When he pulls out the document inside, his face stills. That’s when she says;

“The _Chair_ will see you now. Follow me.”

.

Elio wakes abruptly with a sharp gasp, as if his body is desperately reaching out for life, trying to save himself from a terrible nightmare. First thing that comes to him is the low whirring noise of the blood pressure cuff cycling. No—, please no—

From his right, the dark curls feels a gentle and slow squeeze on his shoulder. With his eyelids heavy, Elio turns his head. And a familiar face comes into focus: the burley male nurse. With just as gentle and warm voice, the nurse goes:

“You are in Milan. You are safe. It’s two thirty am, local time. I am checking your temperature and your basic readings,” with a small smile, he gives a little pause, “how are you feeling?”

Elio closes his eyes slowly. And the nurse hums quietly in acknowledgement with a smile. He scribbles something more with his stylus on his tablet. Once he is done, he gives another warm squeeze on the omega’s hand before he quietly leaves the room. His throat is tight and dry. The hazel eyes tries to wet his lips but he feels too parched. This is worse than the nightmares he has been having. An eerie juxtaposition of his past experience dawns on him profoundly. Not again. As he doesn’t seem to recall what happen, yet again, Elio is baffled. How many days have I lost this time? The dark curls frowns, trying to recall the last memory he can remember. I was in Crema. Oliver and I arrived there for Vimini’s funeral and I remember the service and… and… . The starkness of being alone blankets him. So he tries to raise his left arm to cover over his eyes is when he feels his left hand heavy. Elio turns his head. His nostrils flare with the unexpected emotion at what he sees. Oliver is sitting on the chair, his torso leaned forward over sleeping: his arms folded, his elbows to the side on the long edge of Elio’s hospital bed, his left cheek resting on the back of his hand. A stuttering sigh escapes Elio. And he brings up IV line’d right arm up to thumb away his eyes: left first then his right. Unlike last time, I am okay. Oliver is here, holding my hand. That’s when it hits him.

Wait, if he (the nurse) is checking my vitals… that means I am in OB/GYN ward. Why am I…? Oh, god–.

And everything falls into place. Him being ravenous over particular food and flavor. Him uncharacteristically liking whatever Maxine brought out as refreshments while visiting Arthur. Him running cold one of the Fridays, wanting hot tea. I never like hot tea.

Oh, god–.

From his left, “… I did tell you we need to work on your dramatic tendencies…,” a groggy bass echoes so lovingly.

“Oliver, I–,” Elio turns his head a beat too quick, it feels like he creaked his neck.

His alpha lets out a subdued groan through his throat as he straightens his body upright slowly, not letting go of Elio’s hand. And Elio catches a scabbed over line on Oliver’s cheek and his hand bandaged. A deep furrow appears between Elio’s eyebrows and he tries to push himself up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa–,” Oliver gets on to his feet and stops Elio from getting up.

“But, but you’re hurt. How did you get hurt?” the hazel eyes asks urgently.

“Baby–,” Oliver huffs out a soft smile, “Oliver–, I’m fine,” making a face expression of ‘this is nothing’ with nonchalance, “you need to rest.”

“What… what happened?” asks the dark curls with a bit of worry and confusion.

.

**Rewind | A few hours ago**

In less than a few seconds, a storm of what appears to be SWAT geared crew pour in from every hinged doors around the room. Oliver gets up, turning his head left and right, as what Thompson calls _the intervention team_ surrounds the perimeter. The blond turns around and tries to appeal some help from the people in the room, only to find them all frozen in place.

_Fuck!_

“You forced my hands, Oliver,” Thompson says glumly as if Oliver is the cause of the whole thing. And he talks with one of the heavily geared person in a hushed voice, their heads leaning close.

“You narcissistic fuck!” Oliver spits, kneeling down next to Elio’s body, his upper lip curling up, “I don’t care about your _Plan_ ,” and for some reason, the alpha expeditiously says the following, without any pause in between, “I am not giving up. I told you; I don’t care about money. I don’t care about the status. I gave them all up, remember? No fame, no prestige can replace this…,” he pauses, his eyes welling up, his hand gesturing as if he is holding his own heart in his palm, “this I’m feeling,” then, he looks down at Elio, “this cannot be a mistake. This I feel…,” and he breathes deeply through his nose, his eyes adoring Elio, “we just started. I want him. I want our baby. I don’t care about the timing. I don’t care about how long. Even if it is for a very short while. This is what I want. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“You have deviated from the _Chair_ ’s _Plan_ of which we cannot allow,” Thompson notes as if it is the unbreakable law.

“Who is this _Chair_? Huh?” asks Oliver blocking the intervention team from touching Elio or him, pushing their hands away, elbowing them from getting closer, and shielding his mate, “you ever meet him?”

It’s Thompson’s turn to square his jaw.

“No, you haven’t. So you are just following orders, right? How is that a grand plan, old man? How is ‘don’t ask question but follow the god damn order!’ an ostentatious _Plan_ for the entire humanity, huh?”

Everyone else in the room (in their motion-freezed state) is prepped with what appears to be futuristic headgears around their heads. Thin metal ring contraptions that resemble air traffic controllers’ headsets.

“Admit it, Thompson. You are just another minion. Just like me. Blindly following the things you don’t even understand.”

“Ah––, I never said it’s my job to understand the _Plan_ , professor,” Thompson breathes in sharply through his nose, “my job is to keep–.”

“Thompson.”

A familiar voice rings from Thompson’s back.

_Lewis!_

And the view pans around Thompson circles 360 as he turns around to face Lewis. Miraculously, the intervention team is gone: every. single. one. of. them. And for some inexplicable reason, there are only Oliver, Elio in his arms, Thompson, and Lewis in the room. Oliver’s face is completely still. Lewis offers him a white linen manila envelope in front of the Exec VP. Thompson blinks once, before raising his hand to take the envelope from him. He carefully opens it, taking his time: still elegant, still calm and collected. He studies the page as Lewis simply stands there. After a few moments, Thompson slides the singular page back into the envelope and hands it back to Lewis.

“I understand,” is what Thompson says before pivoting on his heels and walks to the nearest hinged door. He reaches for the knob and looks over his shoulder with a little pause. Oliver and Thompson’s eyes meet. To the alpha, Thompson appears to want to say something. Instead, the old man nods before putting on his hat, and disappears into the door.

“Even Thompson has a boss,” Lewis says with a soft smile.

“…are you the _Chair_?”

“No~,” Lewis chuckles, “you’ve met him though. Or her,” Lewis continues in more serious tone, “Everybody has. The _Chair_ comes in a different form to everyone, so people rarely realize when it happens.”

“Is this some sort of a test?” Oliver asks.

“In a way, it’s all a test, for everybody, even the members of the bureau.”

“So…,” the blond is having trouble wrapping his head around what he is hearing, “so what does this mean?”

“It means that you two seemed to have made an impression on the _Chair_.”

“Impression?”

“Well~,” Lewis sways a little with a soft smile, “let’s just say, you two have inspired the _Chair_.”

And from a distance, Oliver hears the siren coming closer. Right at that moment, Elio stirs quietly with a faint moan.

“Right on time,” Lewis adds softly with a wide smile on his face, “and congratulations,” with a dip of his head, he puts his fedora hat back on and he too disappears into one of the hinged door.

All of a sudden, every sound and noise come back into life.

.

**A Bright Sunny Afternoon, a few years later | Pier, Brighton, UK**

People are walking about; some in barefoot, some playing beach volley ball. A mid-range lens pans around and its focus goes in and out. Then, finally a table with three comes into focus. Crisp shutter sound echoes. The frame captures Oliver, Elio, and a little baby girl. Oliver’s head snaps up and his gaze lands dead-on the camera. Within the frame, Oliver frowns.

“Oh, shit,” the camera man mutters.

Elio says something to Oliver as the alpha gets up out of his chair. The dark curls turns his torso a little and gently takes hold of Oliver’s wrist, looking up at him. Indistinct conversation continues between them. Multiple crisp shutter sounds rather quickly as if the person behind the camera is trying to get as many shots in before they bolt. Oliver leans down and gives Elio a quick peck on his cheek before he takes meaningful strides towards the paparazzi. The guy with the camera debates a little either to take off but quickly decides to get up and makes his presence known. Two men exchange something and the pap dumps out his chest before fidgeting with his camera, and pulling out the microSD card. Oliver takes out his wallet and gives a folded bill to him in exchange for the memory card. The alpha tosses him a light lift of his chin before they part.

.

“How much did you give him for his memory card?” Elio asks with a bit of snicker on his face, looking over his shoulder, as Oliver gets closer to them.

“Twenty,” the alpha replies with a smile.

“You know they get ’em in bulk and if it is 1TB, you are still giving them too much,” the hazel eyes grumbles. But he knows that it’s best to build a rapport with paps than try and rage a war with them. Winning small battles at a time, Oliver explained his logic to Elio a couple of months back.

Oliver doesn’t say anything but sits down, tending to their little girl.

“Oh, my~,” the blue eyes coos with a bit of exaggeration, “my Willow ate more melons and apples. Did you do all of that by yourself without _Daddy_ helping you?”

Willow is four. Willow Ariel Josephine Perlman. Five months after that day at the hospital, Elio gave birth surrounded by his family. It was a bit earlier than usual nine months gestation but considering Oliver (the father) being super tall and all long limbs, the OB/GYN understood why Elio was dilated that much before his due date. It was without epidural. Elio insisted on it. Well, Mafalda’s long suggestion of him accepting and embracing the whole experience of birthing had a lot to do with it, or so Oliver assumes cautiously. After numerous alternation of Elio shouting, ‘I hate you’ and ‘this is so magical’ during contractions and its intervals, their daughter came. An alpha baby girl with caramel blonde hair and heterochromia. One sapphire blue and one hazel. As soon as the omega held her in his arms, Elio said, “Willow. for Vimini.”

Though the hazel eyes still doesn’t share the dream he had before waking up on that night at the hospital, Oliver can easily sense that it had to do with Vimini. Maybe his late mom, the alpha hopes.

Elio has just signed the dotted line with the local philharmonic as a principle pianist the other day. LIFT has been operating as a non-profit global foundation for the past two years. Oliver earned his tenure at Cambridge just six months ago. He only needs to commute three days a week from Brighton.

Elio forks around the egg benedict and grimaces a little, “I think I’m gonna go and ask for a take-away box. Do you want more juice, baby?”

Willow shakes her head. Elio gives her a kiss on top of her head before walking inside the restaurant.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, my sugar plum.”

“Papa smells like a coocumber.”

Oliver chuckles under his breath with a wide knowing smile and adds a little hum. The way Willow pronounces it is so adorable. Yet a teacher in him makes sure to impress upon his daughter a correct way to say the word. So he enunciates the vocabulary by its syllable. And Willow fatefully follows with depthless curiosity and eager willingness.

“There you go. Cu-cum-ber. Very good,” Oliver says, wiping the corner of his daughter’s mouth, “so, my sweets, if you can have a choice, do you want a little brother? Or a little sister?”

Willow tilts her head without understanding what her daddy means. From their right, “oh, no~,” the voice echoes, his unruly curls waving with the warm ocean wind, “I am not gonna be wearing maternity tux any time soon. No, sir~!”

.

[ Voice over by Lewis ]

Most people live life on the path they assume it was set for them: by the capital G, the maker, the universe, you name it. Too afraid to explore any other. Thinking you don’t have enough of this, enough of that. You being born without certain traits you believe you should have. Or you being born into a set of circumstances that seems to be odds stacked against you. Somehow narrowly focused on the world around you which has made you believe who you are. Or lack thereof.

But once in a while, people like you come along who knock down all the obstacles that appear to be laid in your way. People who realize Free Will is a gift you’ll never know how to use until you fight for it. I think that’s the _Chair_ ’s real plan; that maybe one day no other force outside of you won’t write the plan. _You_ will. As you are the creator and the architect of your own life.

You. are. enough; just. as. you. are.

| | | FIN | | |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Lewis's voice over is an adaptation from the film _Adjustment Bureau_ : I own nothing.  
> –transcriber-me originally wanted a twin as my other A/B/O AU was built around Oliver and his little girl. Yet, odd87 said, and I’m paraphrasing, ‘hell, no. No twins. Too much!’ So, transcriber-me acquiesced. The etymology of Vimini ultimately led the decision of this verse’s ElliOllie’s offspring's name.  
> .  
>  **[Special Thanks to]** : (alphabetical order as the King Arthur’s roundtable style may be a tad too dramatic LOL. This has always been my tradition, and I update this list on each fic, periodically.)  
> 27Nan_Rod10,  
> Abbyrose,  
> Adrien_Emery,  
> Aeryn_Imogen,  
> Angela1983,  
> Chrisaki,  
> cowboybaebe,  
> daddysprincess,  
> dancinginahurricane,  
> didntcatchyournameyet,  
> E_leigh_1985,  
> ElioOliver4Ever,  
> elioolivercmbyntrash,  
> emstrange,  
> flamingodancer,  
> Harlech1000,  
> icewine47,  
> ilovelife19,  
> Joenchi,  
> Karinb,  
> Katmreitnour55,  
> Kill_the_director,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> Lament,  
> lizainthesky,  
> Lokifanfic,  
> lovethycactus,  
> Lou_26,  
> Moon_146,  
> Neetsu,  
> Nicestofthedamned,  
> Parna,  
> piccola_nuvola_nera,  
> Prettysadiebird,  
> redharmonica1999,  
> shaniceisfalling,  
> SteadyLittleSoldier,  
> tsunmari,  
> valexwest,  
> valgal,  
> Volmarto,  
> +  
> those who subscribed, bookmarked, and all anon who sent kudos--!  
> .  
> Thank YOU for following along this AU, your patience, time, and interest.  
> As always, do please stay safe and healthy: mind, body, and soul.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> My dearest blue winged peregrine—;  
> "... that he had forgotten nothing and didn't want to forget, and that even if he couldn't write or call to see whether I too had forgotten nothing, still, he knew that though neither of us sought out the other it was only because we had never really parted and that, regardless of where we were, who we were with, and whatever stood in our way, all he needed when the time was right was simply to come and _find me_... ."  
> –Da Capo, from _Find Me_ , by Andre Aciman

**Author's Note:**

> .  
> [[why I am not on any social media](https://youtu.be/PmEDAzqswh8)]  
> .  
>  **A Little Something**  
>  ; for those of very very few who'd like to drop a suggestion or have a question about any of my drabbles (i.e. clarification, background, etc.), please click [my AO3 profile page](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/profile) and you will be able to reach me.  
> .  
> | | | a Little-er Announcement | | |  
> [BY-NC-ND 4.0](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/): (the gist is...) if you wish, feel free to download and/or share my (*kuh hum* very meager) posts noncommercially, as long as you credit/source me, without any changes and/or alterations.  
> .  
> [ How to get to know me ]: ( **ONLY** if you wish) take as much advantage of the comments section, as I came to realize that I value comments more. (Please note this is my opinion and is **not** meant to offer any commentaries towards this wonderful non-commercial organization) :)  
> 


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